I don’t belong here. I would just as easily work for this place as i would destroy it. That would not be the case if i didn’t feel this ancestrally-etched loyalty, extending from my father’s fathers back into the deep unwritten history of humanity.
I hate it here, this isn’t what I’m supposed to be doing. I know that i don’t like this place, but i can feel that me being here is just wrong.
Most people wouldn’t get how this feels.
hammer in a nail with a screwdriver
move some dirt around with a hammer
maybe even water the plants using a shovel
Watch your feeling closely, catalog them as they spin your zealous passions in on themselves like a suicidal roller coaster: Those thrashing tremors that flood the limbs, the waves of angst that contort even the firmest poker-face, the voiceless scream into nothingness as one does what one is told.