Work, as it is denies me myself. Try as I might I cannot ignore the void inside that unfulfilling labor has created. How can the sum total of a day's work feel like a waste every time? At my job I have thrown away hundreds (and counting) of pounds worth of food that I myself cooked. How despicable is this process. Unprincipled peace...to let things slide for the sake of peace and friendship when a person has clearly gone wrong...to say nothing to people to their faces but to gossip behind their backs...to say as little as possible while knowing perfectly well what is wrong. I record and say nothing. How pitiful is that?
