the "we"kend

for some time now, I have been plagued with the so called "work disease". I don't really recall how I contracted it, but it might have been from the time when I slept with my first cousins, best friends, mother-in-laws twenty dollar bill.
to be quite honest, I don't think its a disease. being a pathetic socialite might be the actual disease.
work is a quick antidote for people like me who have a hard time compiling the "to dos" on my to do list.
work is like smoking weed. time goes slow like a bologna sandwich on a plate. also, it tends to keep you thinking that you're doing something worth your time. and after you come down from it, you always wonder what the fuck you were doing.
so in essence, work is a natural drug. and we are trying to forget what we might have been doing at the time we are doing it.

where was I? to dumb it all down, i work to pass the time, and also to collect paper in to my wallet dispenser. then proceed to habitually use the money to buy things to pass the time. and then i utilize the object i bought to pass the time even quicker and so on and so forth. the cycle goes on.
so, why is time so valued in this time and age if we are in constant struggle to not look at our wristwatches? why do people try to preserve it like its the fucking manatees?
when people ask me why i work so much in a negative way, it makes me feel like i'm doing something terribly wrong. usually they tend to say things like "why don't you go back to school and get a real career" or "hiro, you are my hero".
now, why the hell do i need a career? so i can someday support people who i can call family that will go through the same moral dilemma as I?
my analyst keeps telling me that the reason why girls won't love me is because i don't set my own path. and that the goals in my life has goalies the size of a black man's cock blocking it. i believe that the real problem is that i have a make-believe shrink that tells me things while i try to type my blog, and also that i use a racial stereotypes for my metaphorical analogies. if only i had an imaginary spice girl singing in my ear, inspiring me to tell them what i really really want.

i do want to apologize for the collar not matching the cuffs. the title really didn't resemble anything i had to say in this blog.