I wonder sometimes, when the world gets too big (again) and I have a bad day at work, and the General begins to load the cannons, if

- is it me or is it the world? Am I a magnet for assholes in power? Should I be more compassionate to my superiors and understand their position?
- do I spend too much time solving problems of pretty elves fucking, orcs hunting, space-ships breaking down and art being judged by their monetary value lately, to fit into the Real world?

Why do I always feel like a square being shoved into a round tube?

Because wasting precious time we have on this earth is a cardinal sin, that's why.

The General sometimes has to be held back. When I fuck around and bark, it's just a retarded pug showing teeth. He is a cave lion. I am ashamed of the fact he has to worry every time he picks up the phone that on the other side I will be crying. That is the greatest millstone on him: having chosen a wife who is constantly at war with imperfections of humanity, if on a miniature scale.

I do get angry. I really do. And I'll tell you why. In the army I was the quiet little mouse, taking the shit from every Tom, Dick and Harry who had five minutes to piss on me. They had me clean toilets, they wouldn't let me out when nobody else could go to heart surgery with my father. At the chocolate studio, I watched the workers being treated like garbage and my hands bleeding from working for not as much as a single dime in the end. In the museum, I watched the girls slave without pay on the promise of employment, which was never real. At the post-office, I took shit from the superior who wanted to fuck my husband and eventually got rid of me. On the ship I cried myself to sleep every night from the abuse at the hands of Shitty Little Squeak Basket. And as of few months ago, the client who owed me money that could pay off our debt screwed me over and I got nothing - and I did nothing about it. I was just glad it's over.

So, is it me or is it the world? I am volatile, to be sure. My fuse is short, getting shorter. But is there some scientific proof that miserable employees are more effective? That treating people like dogs gets the message across better than admitting the work is hard but we'll get through together? I love the work. It's why I do the work. But I sooooo fucking hate hate hate hate hate the people. Even the kind strangers I meet for the briefest of interactions depress me. Only thing I hate more is seeing what I may turn into if I start to believe them 'this is normal'.






The answer to both questions is really simple.






Finish the goddamn fucking book.