Home of the Free

Apparently I am not handling losing my job because I don't fucking want to be here. I don't want to do any of my fucking work. I don't even want to open up fucking Framemaker and I definitely don't want to be involved in anything that might be considered productive.

I am the only one in a row of 10 cubicles. Everyone else is either away, working from home (yeah, right), or getting a head start on their holiday weekend. I'm straddling the border of anti-productiveness, entertaining thoughts of xeroxing my resume and sticking it under the windshield wipers of every car in every parking lot of every software company in town.

Patience is not my strong suit. Please tell me, Corporate Overlords, please tell me my fate so I can pick up the pieces and have a garage sale. Please tell me so I can find a new apartment in a different city and fedex my cats and sell the television and the stereo and open a new checking account far, far away. Please tell me so I can stop feeling like I'm on the verge of tears and screaming and throwing up and having nightmares about video games and elder mist gorillas. Please just tell me why this is necessary.

I'm tired of being kept in the dark. I don't like myself, like this. I don't like resenting the people who get to stay. I don't like questioning my self-worth. I don't like hearing my co-workers cry.

Happy Independence Day, everybody.