Work is Hell

driving in I thought of an old friend that helped build, and her boyfriend who I think ended up working for Nasa. I was thinking, wow. Those are cool jobs. Then I realized she ended up somewhere in Emeryville with chronic fatigue syndrome and shes probably maybe even dead somewhere. And the other guy. Lord only knows. But he was convinced that all life on Earth is doomed and our only real hope for survival as a species was to escape the planet. So I wanted to write something nice for them, like , you know, something you could read while you listened to Natalie Merchant on your iPod or something ... and then I realized. One of them is probably dead, from overwork. And the other one goes to work every day with the sole idea that all life will be annhilated from the planet. So You sit down to write about old friends, but you don't have enough time. Then you realize. Work. Is. Hell. ... and for my job? I don't get to complain about the routine. I get the second level of hell treatment. Its a new torture each day. ... oh. Sorry. Am I buggin' you? I didn't mean to bug you.