The happy place

I don’t want to write about no buckets!!

I don’t know what I want to write about.

New job is exhausting. I’m getting too old for new experiences like this, and the worn down tracks of my old life was deep indeed. Like waist deep. And now like an ox and/or a tractor I must follow a new path unknown into my future. To make new tracks.

I wish I was more enthusiastic, but I’m feeling wrung out?!! Feeling like it’s the type of thing one must push through for a greater prosperity in the future, though I keep counting down the years until retirement, and it’s a long time still.

But it seems like it could be fun! work could be fun, people are nice (appears to be) and stuff.

Also, on the other hand, think about these fuck nuts working their asses off under the constant abuse from chef Ramsay just to get to work on some barbecue restaurant? To wear a black chef’s jacket? To cook food and smoke ten packets of cigarettes and likely get a heart attack in the early fourties? And something also about toxicity?

Anyhow I sure hope for peace on Earth soon.