Bad Day.

It's choosing between dignity and your financial worth.
How much would you sell your dignity for, how much is
it worth. I mean, sure as hell, I'm a damn whore for money,
and I'd sell anything that I owned, for the right price.

Virginity, pride, dignity, maybe even my finger.
On second thoughts, I'd sell anything I'd own, except for
my penis. A man's gotta have his man hood, I tell ya.

But I think, after retching the contents of your stomach,
all over yourself, and the washroom, that's when the line
has been crossed.

Where there really isn't any point, no matter how compelled
you are, to fulfill your sense of duty.

It's a choice that one makes, standing in the public washroom
caked in filth, smelling and feeling faint. Would you really be of
any use, to anyone?


I call, and with the call answered, I immediately knew my decision
was a right one. Might appear selfish, oh yes. There'd probably be
of opportunity for shit to be pinned on me. I'd probably get into
trouble.

Plodding on with heavy feet, feeling like yesterday's waste,
I headed home.


To cap off, a spectacularly bad day; and it's only 8.30 in the morning.