Excerpt from a letter I was smart enough
not to throw away:
I am some days better than others, some days worse than before, but never bad enough that I can't dread the next day more. I wake up and I go to sleep and in between I either look back or ahead, wanting one or the other to keep me going.
I like my job as long as it's not too enjoyable because that wouldn't be anything I'd want, to be paid for doing something I need to do in order to survive. Work is work, it shouldn't be anything other than what it is, you shouldn't do anything you cannot abide.
What can I say? I get by, my day to day existence nothing more than a joy I have to endure while life passes me at top speed.