Friday, February 01, 2008

The Point of My Dull Life

Each day meanders by and I sink deeper and deeper into a depressive funk. Sludge to work and then sludge to Dialysis again and again and again.

It's as though my soul is all clogged up with crap I can't seem to let go.

I used to love my job. I had passion and exuberance for each broadcast day.

But I think I've run out of anything witty or entertaining to share. That's a sad realization.

I attempted to ask out two different women who seemed to like me and they both turned me down. Dialysis is obviously not an aphrodisiac.

We're in a transition phase here at work with people being let go and others being invited in. I can't allow my depression to show or management will believe I don't desire to be here anymore.

I converse with my fellow employees and put on a happy face, but inside I'm rotting.

When I manage not to cancel Dialysis (I've been skipping treatments lately) I barely say a word. I completely shut down in an effort to put a stay on the impending traumatic pain that will plague my arm for two unbearable hours.

Sometimes you just have to step back, let the bell ring and throw the fight.

I have this dream where I give away all my possessions at work and at home, grab a couple changes of clothes, hop in the truck and just start driving. I have no destination or inclination to travel anywhere in particular.

The wind will brush through what little hair remains while sunshine will splash across my troubled face. People I once knew for a fleeting moment will wonder what happened to that Stacy character. Their concern for my welfare will quickly evaporate as I become a casual blip in their memory banks.

I don't really care where I end up.

As long as it's away from here.

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