So instead, I am sitting at a computer used by god knows how many individuals, typing on keyboard that had received god knows how many filthy fingers, clicking a mouse that has sat beneath many a polluted palm.
Gross, I know. Not unlike using the computers at your public library, possibly after someone has shat their pants in the seat beside you.
I suppose some more productive lunch break activities would be;
- Scanning the job boards for more substantial work, ie: career ( what's that word mean?)
- contemplating article ideas to potentially sell to one of the weeklies
- inking the comics for the next "success zine"
- taking a walk
- actually eating
Maybe part of my problem is that I would so much rather complain about all the things I want to but can't (won't) do. It's so much easier to talk a buch of rad shit than to do a bunch of rad shit.
Personally, I'm more capable of taking a rad shit than anything else.
Yet another thing I could spend my lunch break doing.
Crap (literal and figurative) aside, I am sitting here at this moderately gross computer, writing a moderately gross blog, wondering, yet again (you'll notice it's a theme) "what the fuck I am doing with my life?"
This morning, I almost cried when the ingredients I wanted to make soup with were unavailable. I almost cried at work. I had to put my head between my hands and lean on something. Who the fuck am I? What the hell kind of work ethic sets you to crying when there's no potatoes left for your baked potato soup?
Why do I care? I don't get a fucking "soup bonus". I'm not a prima donna, and I'm definitely not spoiled, I'm a hard worker, and I care about having a job, so I care about keeping my job. How does that translate to crying in a pantry over nothing?
(In case you're wondering, it has nothing to do with the menses. Beacuse, yes, the menses will get my tear ducts a percolatin', but that's not it, I promise.)
Am I really this unhappy? Fuck.
BTW, I made artichoke bisque, and it's awesome.
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