Lines in the Sand
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 sure I knew who it was, but I didn't bother saying.
They are not wrong. Been fucking wired for... two weeks straight? Two cups in a large thermos, one more for good measure. Call me a child, but straight black coffee tastes like Satan's asshole.
That's way too much bitterness, even for me. Cream and sugar to make the medicine go down, as the old saying goes. I think... Fuck. Sleepless nights are one thing.
How they're managing to fuck with my memory is another one entirely. Much like some certain technology I'm learning that I have to sort through one at a time. Otherwise my entire system overheats and tries to commit the electronic equivalent of lemming cliff diving.
If you're here, and wondering about my drives going belly up on me and how my data recovery process is going? Let me paint you a picture.
Nothing on those drives should even exist, let alone say what they do.
Events. Dates. Posts. Forms.
Plastered with my name on them. Constant headaches and more paperwork if any of this information leaked to the higher ups. My ass swinging in the wind at the end of a literal noose.
None of this makes any sense.
More lines drawn in the sand than I care to even talk about, let alone remember.
My life is already way too fucking complicated for any of this.. what do the kids in modern science fiction call it?
Multiverse Theory?
I need more coffee...
Guess I'm not sleeping for the rest of the month.
- Tag
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 sure I knew who it was, but I didn't bother saying.
They are not wrong. Been fucking wired for... two weeks straight? Two cups in a large thermos, one more for good measure. Call me a child, but straight black coffee tastes like Satan's asshole.
That's way too much bitterness, even for me. Cream and sugar to make the medicine go down, as the old saying goes. I think... Fuck. Sleepless nights are one thing.
How they're managing to fuck with my memory is another one entirely. Much like some certain technology I'm learning that I have to sort through one at a time. Otherwise my entire system overheats and tries to commit the electronic equivalent of lemming cliff diving.
If you're here, and wondering about my drives going belly up on me and how my data recovery process is going? Let me paint you a picture.
Nothing on those drives should even exist, let alone say what they do.
Events. Dates. Posts. Forms.
Plastered with my name on them. Constant headaches and more paperwork if any of this information leaked to the higher ups. My ass swinging in the wind at the end of a literal noose.
None of this makes any sense.
More lines drawn in the sand than I care to even talk about, let alone remember.
My life is already way too fucking complicated for any of this.. what do the kids in modern science fiction call it?
Multiverse Theory?
I need more coffee...
Guess I'm not sleeping for the rest of the month.
- Tag
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