Work

Staying for hours after work, only because I have nothing else. Nothing else to do, except the things I have to do. The things I am afraid to do. Find a place to live. Write that appeal. Or just be with my thoughts.

I stay there because it’s lonely at home. I can joke with the buddies at work, listen to chill musics, and totally belong. And it’s mentally comfortable. I know how the place runs; know what to do in most situations, and how I fit into all of it. It’s safe. Sure, it gets busy, hectic, crazy, stressful, and dead slow, but it’s nothing that a little reggae can’t fix. And it’s safe. It doesn’t push my boundaries, it doesn’t force me to think outside of my conditioned self, it doesn’t force me to look at the gray areas of this planet which we’re a part of. I am directly responsible for wasting uncountable amounts of paper over the last year and a half, yet I sleep easily at night. But hey, it’s safe, right?