There are these times when I'm not ass-deep in terminals, grepping cgi-bins only to have the operations time out... when I'm not frantically assembling pizzas that barely resemble real pies for a corporation that undermines you by proxy, donating millions to a politick that loves to find your every flaw (like the morons who order deepfried death disks ten at a time), the tickets piling up and the ovens completely full, sweating and aching...
and that's when I can't deal with this... this separation. I need the distraction of working myself harder and harder until the abused veins and sinews push through my skin, or I'll be stuck... sad and tired, close to extinguished and far from home. I have my reasons for being here, and these we both know. It's not just him, it's not just the work, it's not just the prospect of a passable education... for all practicality's sake, I should be fucking ecstatic and dancing.
but I've never been much of a practical person.
...