Shoot me. Please.

If I honestly have to sit here and stare at this fucking monitor any longer, I'm going to scream. If I have to answer one more phone call with my sweeter that molasses voice, I think I'm going to go looney tunes and start running around the hallways like an escapee from "Cuckoo's Nest" without my straight jacket. I just can't comprehend how people can sit here, day in and day out...clickity clickity clackity on their keyboards, doing this mind numbing drivel. I just don't get it.

I for one know that the millisecond I leave the cell for the day, and see sunshine, a bit of my soul begins to return. With each step closer to the car, I can feel...a sense of something...wait, is that my conscience returning? No, couldn't be.

Let's stop sending convicted criminals to prison. Make them get a desk job. In a cube. I guarantee it's 1000x worse than dropping the soap...even in Attica. They'll come out on the straight and narrow...fully rehabilitated. I guarantee it.

Just some of my "I'm irritated today" thoughts from the cube farm for ya.

Please, pray for my acceptance into grad school.

Please?