so many dead trees.
so little time.
I think the bastard ceded defeat to his wife on two or three separate disagreements when I got home because I just couldn't care.
all I see are pages and pages and pages.
it took me 40 minutes to believe I was home eating carne asada and not my one flesh as I gnawed it off of my leg trying to break free from an imagined shackle attached to my desk.
and I'm not even halfway there.
I'm not even in the goddam tunnel at this point.
—the bastard
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