Work it, Work it, Work it all for Nothing.

How many people can say that they have careers where they feel that they put in a lot of work for a result that's satisfying? I always wonder that.

I don't. I sure as shit don't.

Money isn't the result I want.
Obviously, it's a result I need, considering I have a job in the first place.

But I want to create something.

I don't do that now. Oh hell no.

I create this bubbling angst that makes me want to clock people in the face daily.

That's about it.

I'm heading towards a path where that will be the case, but in the meantime, hell no.

I'm not big on money. I don't feel like I need to live in luxury to enjoy my life.

As long as I live in the way I want to, with enough money to survive, that's all I can ask for.

I want to have that career where I work my fucking ass off, and in the end I have something beautiful to call my own.

Music? If I could play any kind of instrument, yes. For sure.

Unfortunately, I'm about as capable of a kid with no limbs  is for running a marathon.

I'm a musical moron.

All I can do is listen and appreciate the wonderful audial diarrhea that others shit out.

I'm okay with that, too. Kind of.

I lied, I'm not. I want to play an instrument.

But I digress.


My mind has derailed again. Fuck.

I tend to do that often. I get bored of my point halfway through, or I forget it and move on to something else. It's not such a great time.
It makes for terrible story times.

Terrible story times.

My poor future children. They're going to fucking loathe bedtime because mommy couldn't be fucked to finish the story.

What happened to the princess? I don't fucking know. Learn to read, you shit. READ.

In the end of the day, I just work it.

Work it, work it, work it all for nothing.