Workamaniac

I just got home, like, one hour ago. I lead a very sad working life, and I really hope that I wouldn't be this much of a workaholic when I become a full-fledged working adult. The arduous process of trying to endure the blasting air-conditioning, that son of a bitch lady boss sitting in that corner, the humungous pile of colourful files on my table, each nesting a little disaster in them. And that mad woman who occasionally throws glares at me just gets on my nerves. Who gives a damn if she earns a 5-figure paycheck and drives some posh car? She acts like a little kid, constantly hungry for attention with her booming voice and haughty struts. And her condescending attitude is such a put-off. Someone lend me a 50 cent coin to scratch her car with. And I just out-talked that troublesome guy from Marketing. He came in in the morning and started to order people around and demanded for his own backlog stuff to be cleared. So I just told him off in a nonchalent way that it's his problem that I can't generate the invoices. What a loser. I've seen so many faces in the adult world, I guess it's time to step out and curb all that bullying. Counting down 14 working days to the end of my misery.

And I had to start crying like a little kid while I was peeling the plaster off my cut. I guess it's just a mixture of emotions from tiredness, pain and the feeling of missing you.