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Journal nanojath's Journal: sorry, just a touch more

What now. Whatever it might be it seems it comes without reward or at least the kind of reward I want now. And what's later? Later doesn't exist so if it isn't now then it isn't and so it seems reasonable to ask, what's in it for me? In an immediate, gratification sense. And how is it that all the live in the moment stuff I get stuffed down my throat takes a holiday in this wretched world of self improvement. And yet here I am. So many have said so and yet here I am. Killing. Seven. Minutes. More. Then turn over a new leaf right? Promise promise this time is different, this is not like all the others. All the thousands of others. Not like school, that one quarter,,, or those 12 other quarters. Not like that crazy Institute job no. Not like Quorum, where at least there was a simple quota and one hundred percent justification. Not like the temps, all the temps, but at least they didn't care. Not like Pee... Are... Eye... No nothing at all like that. At least before I seemed to have a fairly steady supply of kind, now I got nothing and I am so tired of it all. Sick of the sickness sick of the sickness sick of the sickness sick of the sickness. It's fun to go back in time and be sick of things you've been sick of a thousand other times before. It's fun to fast forward 31 years into the future and feel like you've spent ten years learning nothing, quite possibly unlearning things you learned earlier in life. And now let us recall the stages of grief:
The first stage is denial
Next comes anger or resentment
The third stage is bargaining
The fourth stage is depression
Finally comes acceptance
And a minute past so to hell with you all. Grief my ass.

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sorry, just a touch more

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