Sunday, November 07, 2004

"I've got a bad feeling about this, kid"

Work went by pretty fast today. Lots of people doing the shopping thing. Apparently, November 7th is "let's talk a long time and finally buy some rugs" day. This rug is for my kitchen, this is for under my coffee table. Will this red clash with this rug? This is in the foyer.

I am amazed they don't smell my apathy.

Actually, my mood is bottoming out. I can barely type this. Tired. Chest tight. I want to, but am unable to, cry.

The past two days at work, I've had a consistent bad feeling, like my 6th sense knows something bad is coming. Lurking on the horizon. I've made a couple of little mistakes at work, I think. A cash return a little past the 90 day mark. Endorsing the wrong side of a gift certificate. Little things that really probably wouldn't matter in any other job, company, or store; but, when you think your boss is trying to get you to leave, weigh on you heavier than the fucking world.

"I've got a bad feeling about this, kid," Han Solo would say, and the Falcon would get sucked into a Death Star or the floor would drop or the door would open and two dozen Storm Troopers would bust in lasers blazing. But their Movie Heroes, they always get out alive, on top. I'm a weak mortal man. I could end up in a shelter, the gutter, an asylum. There is no one to shout "Cut, print," then saunter off to a trailer full of champagne and steak and friends.

This feels like the Beginning of The End. The Neverending End?

I doubled my meds yesterday, but feel twice as bad today. (sounds like a Suicidal Tendencies album name, no?)

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