So here I sit, unbelievably exhausted. I am running on 2 hours of sleep on a few shots of expresso. Been awake 17 hours, biked 2 miles, ran 1.5mi, 29 military style chin ups, several sets of maxing out at benching, 10 dips, and 8 hours of school and 4.5 of work. I am beat, but yet I know I can go on cos I’m not that weak as to let such a measly thing such as exhaustion defeat me.

Christmas season is starting, work is getting busier and busier at ShopKo and a little at Chapter Two. I have decided my goal. I am too nice to quit before the holidays and screw everyone else over, so I will wait until after the 6 weeks, then Chapter Two goes bye-bye. I’ll be informing Mary of this the next time I see her, as to give her plenty of time to find a replacement. However, if she pulls anymore stunts like her one from my most recent blog entry, I’m gone halfway before she closes her mouth. I go to work so I can work, not to be harassed. She wants to do that, she can find someone else to do it to. Think the doctors forgot to remove the giant dildo from her ass when they changed her sex from Bitch to Cuntolympus.

Got homework to do yet tonight. It is 23:08. Fuck. My own pissin’ fault. Should probably not have talked to my friends after school, should have not sorted out my trip information and organized all of that; I should have did homework. Now here I am wasting even more time. Argh. I wonder if I will ever learn?

If I can just somehow survive the next 7 weeks, I’ll be down to 2 jobs, and school. That will cut back only on about 7 hours of work each week, but the stress level will definitely go down not having to worry about job conflicts and such.

December will be month of hell. Won’t see Greg much as he’ll be working plenty of overtime being that he works at Tesco, for all of you gits who don’t know it, it’s like a UK version of Wal*Mart. Last year he received a bad injury to his shoulder, which still has not healed, and never will without corrective surgery; even with that who knows, who wants to have a giant fence post driven through their shoulder anyways, ouch. On top of that, he has an asshole manager and is way overworked and way understaffed. If you’re reading this now Greg, there is always the possibility of that accident with the box/waste compressors and a highly *unfortunate*, but fatal plunge into them with Shaun’s face. I can hear the noise of his skull crushing and fracturing in thousands of places at one. The shatter of his skull is grinding enough, but the noise that is heard next, a grueling, squishing noise – like you’d hear if you stepped in a fresh pile of hot and creamy manure – is even more audible, radiating its perilous echoes of the brain being sardined, leaving nothing of Shaun’s head but the oozing chunks of flesh and brain, and the scent of burnt hair emanating throughout the air…

How’s that for descriptive?

I may come off as angry, but really, I’m quite happy. I just express my happiness in ways some people may view as…disturbing? Or so I hope.

Seven weeks till 2006. One point five weeks until my vacation. One month of hell filling the gap inbetween. It’s a war of time, and that’s all it ever will be: time. Here is your life. Tick. There was your life. Tock.