7:41 a.m. - August 27, 2004
I'm a tool, but a well-paid one
Too quickly I'm drowning again in the hectic, invoicing left and right, smirk internally when others bemoan the slowness of work because this has been an unusually busy week for me and busy means money. Was thinking I should be more grateful, more thankful, more something, that I am fortunate enough to be busy the minute I return, that it signals some sort of arrivé, that perhaps I'm good at what I do and they are not. I don't know the hows or whys, but being a workaholic isn't as satisfying as it used to be and I am fully aware that my drive now is not for me but because I'm on automate. Eh. No surprise there - automation is my life, has been, will ever be. Join the party or cry in the closet. I don't think I'll be different some day; it will be me dying of a heart attack at 40 in some public place while strangers watch. I used to think I would die young and eagerly invited it. Now I want a long life, a full life, but fear these things are too much to shoot for.
I'm off - to work, that's right.
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