I never take the time out to make myself sane. I zip like a roach from under one canopy to the next. I am no longer sane or whole. My interactions at work are consistently steeped in contempt. With a sort of feeling that the future has been decided and that I will most certainly be leaving this present Park Slope and Work routine, I'm a lot less tolerant of all the bullshit. Oh, and it most certainly is bullshit. My life seems like it's so easy, that things should be so easy. It's like one of those trick challenges to eat six saltines in a minute or something. It SHOULD be cake, and I should be the happiest little fucker I know. I most certainly am not, though.