Bones

I don't think I can recall a time when I've been this tired. There are times, when I nod forward, it almost feels like my skin is peeling away from me, that I'm falling through myself, and continue to fall until a snap up, still and straight. I haven't been sleeping at night. I've taken to waiting on the computer for something, anything. I don't know what. A message? A sign? Some kind of digital Star of David to tell me which direction I should go?

Maybe I'm just waiting for a friend. Like some kind of fond memory taken from childhood that people can't recall... I'm thinking I will soon be added. A name, maybe. A face. Somebody you think you should know, but when you ask, he just smiles and kind of nods, before walking off, details hazy.

I don't think I can recall a time when I've been this angry, either. Working with the public has shown me that my some-time contempt for humanity is not ill placed. What hope is there for a species that can't hold a conversation without insult, let alone co-operate? Tonight alone, if my name came up once more, I would have started collecting dues. Valiant efforts slandered by bloodthirsty banshees, I'd rather see the whole party tumble and rot. It deserves no better.

And for what? A foul smell upon the air that can kill upon a breath. What then of the fools in the cars? What of the airplanes? The trains? What of medical malpractice, or lord forbid, being struck by lightning. People rail not against these things because there is no convenient handhold, no teat to grasp, no hand to bite. Give people freedom, and they will use it to gripe. Take it away, and they become sheep.

I care little for the braying of complaint. Do something or do not, but I will not tolerate such immaturity, nor the debasement of the language through slander.