I don’t know what to do at the computer. I don’t really have projects to work on or the brain power capacity to work on them. Game design is dead because I can’t read anymore, so I can’t solve complicated programming problems. Schizoaffective disorder.
Maybe I should get a leg up on the workday?
I’m just cheating my way through corporate life doing not all too much until I have to do some lab work, grueling, power through, for a day. And I’m not the kind of person a good company wants, in the end. They know that. They’re just using me as labor until the contract expires.
Man. I don’t know.
Is this a new kind of scam? they ask.
No we just want to try to pay you for your art.
Apparently it’s not working.
I’m useless. I’m a useless human being.
I could blame it on society.
And not getting enough nature in my life.
Which… is all too true. There ISN’T enough nature in my life.
But here I am. Typing out brief sentences.
I’ve grown so small and unimportant. And angry.
I don’t often notice it.
I wonder if I’m really that angry.
It’s hard to tell.