Corporate Red Tape

Like I had said before. Nearsighted goals. Survival. You know what that means? Compromise. Living by the skin of your teeth and making the hard calls. Jack has done it for as long as she's been alive. And of course it's "done wonders for her mental and emotional state." Not that I could complain, I just have a weird burning feeling in my gut. I've been doing it since I gave my soul away to protect people I care about. I drew a line in the sand each time I said I thought I'd given enough. Think of it like a Japanese zen garden, except if you arranged all of those lines together, they would have spelled out: "You sad, gutless fuck." Or something to that effect. I don't fucking know. I've been trying to overdose on coffee to ignore those thoughts. Jack always gave me this look because I was never a fan of soda. Caffeine does wonders for a tired mind. Someone called me an addict in the comments of one of my previous posts. Pretty su

You'd expect something like a horrible migraine to just keep you from going on with your day. The anger, torment and nightmares from reliving things you thought never should have happened to begin with. Not me. Powering through was always my specialty. Even with my dreams. Cold sweat, not being able to move. Feeling like my body wasn't even mine. I'd laugh at the tragedy if I ever felt like it. But I don't. I can barely do anything anymore. Taste. Smell. Even listening is just like an automatic function. Me, but not me. Existing in a void between awake and asleep. You'd think I was bored or even not being affected by any of it. I was. For.. months. Felt like years. Never let on because it just wasn't my place to do so.  I was just always way too good at hiding it. A smile on my face hid the pain. Not telling anyone meant I was saving myself the trouble of disappointing anyone else. My job didn't need any more emotional attachment to it than

Things seem... different. Might be because I moved offices. Needed a new change of scenery and my old one smelled too much like stale whiskey and bad memories. Lot of empty ones in this building. Not like I had any competition. Everything is the same. Shouldn't feel any different. But it does. More than anything, the world feels the way it does when you move somewhere new and visit a restaurant you used to go to before. Same place, same food, same shitty in house beer. But at the end of the day, you have to find your way back to your new place. New route from an old place. Keep doing that, day in, day out. For six fucking months. And you'll see how I felt with what happened... I mean, it's a new office. Still has that freshly polished desk smell. But it's not really all that new. Same place. New experiences? The paperwork goes to the same bin. I have the same desk. Nothing should feel different. The coffee is oddly effervescent but that might be th

Report Number: 01030500 Logistical Anomaly Name: Data Not Found Date: Data Not Found  Contents: Declassified From the Personal Desk of Section Chief Tag I've been coming up with some issues lately that I don't think I can discuss with anyone besides myself. Of course the blog is an open source thing for Underland but even I have my own private archives.  Whatever messages are getting through are still mine. But even with data retrieval going, it's not easy to figure out from where. I've been...foggier lately. I think it's stress. Or emotional drain from everything finally catching up with me.  Maybe I'll just explain what I'm seeing. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Loading... Data Not Found. Archives Corrupted. Do you wish to continue? Rebooting... Archives Available. Logistical anomaly detected in archives, files not found. Archives Unavailable. Username: Tag