Tuesday, June 22, 2004 · posted at 4:14 PM
My desk hates me. I cannot go one work day without ramming an elbow, hitting a leg, or, as the case is today, smashing my knee into my desk. I learned from jury duty that you can file workman's comp for sh** like your own clumsiness. Sign me up.

My desk hates me. Or maybe it's telling me to leave.

Get me out of here.
A heart that’s full up like a landfill,
A job that slowly kills you,
Bruises that won’t heal

You were so tired, happy,
Bring down the government,
They don’t, they don’t speak for her
I’ll take the quiet life, a handshake of carbon monoxide

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