Been working in Tampa a lot recently. Hotel troubles, traffic in a strange city, unfulfilling work load. So much fun, it makes me want to drive right off this bridge and see if the van can fly (or at least swim)
I’d rather be at home. I’d rather be on vacation. I’d rather be dead.
At least when I’m home, I’m too busy to think. I’ve got to do this or that and there is so very little time to ruminate on what I’ve become, or more truthfully, what I’ve failed to become.
Dreary outlook on a dismal situation. Worse than having no way out, I have lots of options, and no balls to take any of them. So here I wallow in my own misery, created by my lack of motivation, enhanced by my cowardice, solidified by my mounting failures.
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