Worst. Protein bar. Ever.
Sweet god, that was bad. Uh. Cardboard. Yuck. I bought a whole fucking box of these yesterday, shit. I need to switch these out. Bah. Blech.
OK, OK, I’ll go back to playing Antz or something. Wonder why corporate America turns people into zombies? Because they either 1) hire people to do boring, lifeless jobs 2) pay people to sit around waiting to do boring, lifeless jobs.
Just pulled a pricing sheet for the NYC project off the printer. Oh, please, put me on a plane! I’ll go anywhere. Do anything. I’ll pay 120K for Law School in order to flee from brain death.
As fine as it is for getting paid to do nothing, I have trouble writing at work (I need loud music, and my best writing time is 7pm-2am, so this is a fucking crap shoot, with all the distractions, though I keep opening shit up and staring at it), so all that “great” writing time is for shit, and here I am blogging about absolutely fucking nothing and throwing away a really, really shitty protein bar and going: yea. Money’s good.
My brain will die a slow, painful death. It will not be pretty. It will involve bad protein bars.
Ack. Back to opening up story files.
