Unhappy

There is a place that I can't go, a place that I have so much heart for. Every day I groan, moan, and dread the early morning, the speeding traffic, and that race to nothing. I race down a long long road, dodge the pill heads, the old people, and the late people who can't lose their job.

10 O'fuckin'clock, I don't have to punch in, but I must walk in, greet the sheep, and sit in my small cell. I park my ass in the stale seat, look around all the busy people, stare at myself like a zombie, and I wait.

WAIT.

first hour goes by, and nothing...
second hour I've had a whole a glass of water and maybe a cookie.
third hour I re read the magazine I've had on my station for a week.
fourth hour I eat lunch...
fifth hour a client... a client that I make 15 bux on.
sixth hour I read the magazine once more make sad puppy eyes at my boss, and bow out.


I'm in a shit load of pain.

I asked her today about asking the Goldwell rep if maybe I could work for him, she didn't give a shit, she just looked for an insensitve reason to say no, and suggested for me to work for them some more... at the front desk.

Hey paul mitchell thanks for fucking up my whole life, my parents life, and who knows how many others... I've made less money doing hair than working for universal studios. FUCK YOU PRICKS! I don't suck at hair by the way, I live in the most boring town, and I do nothing all day but stare at myself...

Yeah ive read the countless amounts of shitty articles written by the hair people. And yeah I know I'm suppose to go out there and market myself...

BUT AT THIS FUCKING POINT... WHAT THE HELL FOR?