It’s 10 p.m.
Seven days before Christmas.
I’m sitting at work “finishing” up some charts.
I am suddenly overcome with anger.
What am I doing here right now at this minute? I am helping no one.
This work I’m typing away at — trying so hard not to scream — it’s hoops. Fucki*g hoops … for insurance companies. So I can beg them to pay me. Pay me pennies for the hard, good, compassionate, humanitarian …