My farthole hurts. I have just excreted the largest turd in my life I swear. It hurts so much I can't even contract my buttocks straight. It's as if I have been raped anally by a stack of berserk wild bananas--not that I've felt what's it like to be raped by berserk bananas before. Damn turds.

Waaaaah. I'm depressed. Now that I've taken another route towards my future, I have this perplexing feeling that I might not be taking that WRITING course anymore. SOB. I just feel inadequate and incompetent and illiterate. Might rather stick to this lameass call center career.XP Oooohhhh but will I be satisfied?? Of course... NOT! Who in the archipelago of this country would want to work as an ANONYMOUS CALL CENTER AGENT and suffer from the gripes of alienation, mundanity, superficiality all in the degrading world of the ORDINARY. I know I have been suffering from EGOTISM or EGOCENTRICITY or whatever word that centers the self innit--solipsism??XP--and that I am destined for grand things, that one day I may perhaps be an unparalleled writer-novelist-critic-graphic-artist-web-designer-existentialist-et cetera all rolled into one when now I'm just a wretched lowlife stinkpot stuck in the world of fucking TELEPHONES answering calls from irate flybrained customers from America. And just who in the world am I representing?? A company which I don't even give a flying hooting fart about. HECK, I don't give an eff about the call center company that hired me (Convergys), the wireless communication network that I represent (Sprint), and the people whose stupid issues I try to resolve (Americans).

I HATE MY WORK!

Bloody fuck.

But face it. I need money to support myself for crying out loud.

Word did you say?

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