Dark, shadowy places.  They seem the only paths I travel these days.  Acrimonious, hostile, unfriendly paths upon which I walk alone, find my way from moment to moment, yearn for betterment whilst acting out a play of sheer bitterness.

Wanton bile fills one second, another, the next, and before I know what happened, it fills the whole day and leaves me restless, unable to sleep.

More than anything else, work embodies the crushing revulsion and incensed umbrage that poisons my every vein and breath.  From me it robs time and energy, sleep and interest, and in the end offers nothing but more of the same.

In the ravages of such destruction I grow despondent, removed from all that I love.

Seeking escape becomes yet one more responsibility for which I have no time.

Each footstep measured, limited, timed to lead me from one rushing menagerie of need to the next.

Holidays sacrificed en masse, stolen without a single drop of gratitude.

Vacation denied and early release scolded.

Even now I enter my eleventh straight day of work.

And this weekend?

So full of tasks and duties as to be completely devoid of relaxation, time spent with The Kids, writing and work on Dreamdarkers.  In truth, I doubt it can contain all the necessities of survival with which I must fill it, all the errands and chores, all the burdens I must complete before delving into another week of hell on call.

On call.  I hate those words, hate the very thought of them, hate the agony they represent.

Nothing justifies this ghoulish existence, nothing sweetens the acidity of this life.