Work is most pointless, at best.
Yes, that's right. I've had it with work and warrants and methamphetamine abusers and parentless children. There's really nothing in it. See, I show up everyday and push these papers around and arrest people and type my little notes in the computer and it does nothing. This is just silly. Is most work like this? I mean, do educators feel this way? Data analysts? How about doctors? I would hope not, but there it is...nothing ever changes, no matter how many warrants I write, no matter how many treatment centers I recommend, no matter how many people I discharge. There will always be more.
Some might call me depressed about my job, and I think they are right. I think I am also being a realist. I think I'm burnt out. At 26. I'm burnt out at 26. That's still relatively young.
I was thinking to myself last night, as I watched yet another news report about a terrorist bombing, haven't the terrorists kind of lost the message in all this? I mean, a bomb in Egypt. What does it mean? Is it the Palestinians? The Israelites? The Muslims? Al-Queda? Who knows?? An innocent Brazilian is shot in London, and for what? We're not quite sure. There's this horrible hopelessness involved in all this...we're going through motions but we're not sure why. Hence, my paragraph about work. How silly it is that I'm here, at work, when I could be planting a garden, finding something useful to do with myself. For a paycheck...my God.

I read the news today, oh boy...about a lucky man who made the grade.
And tho' the news was rather sad, well, I just had to laugh
I saw the photograph....HE BLEW HIS MIND OUT IN A CAR...
He didn't notice that the lights had changed
A crowd of people stood and stared...

History repeats itself in such mundane ways. We should have learned, my fellow readers. By now, we all should know something better than this anger and this death.

Ah, but this is just a blog...a blog in the big wide world of information...and pointless, at that.

"Hope is a thing with feathers"
-Emily Dickinson