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I’ve been feeling job nauseated for the past few days.  I don’t know when the streak will end, and I hope it will, and will not be a permanent thing, but if it won’t cease who am I to take away what the woman inside me really feels.  This is the usual struggle of having a job that you don’t love.  Once a year, you have to battle out the saturation fight, if you get lucky and if your diversion pills will do the job, it’s another year to come, if not like what I’m feeling right now, it’s time to throw that “I don’t have a choice but to do it” surmise… because if I can, and I would really want out, I will make an OPTION, I will create an opportunity for myself.

I love writing, it liberates me from the overflowing thoughts my mind can think of each day at my unguarded moments and random imaginings, but no matter how I know in myself that I love it… I decided to take the road always travelled by my generation.  It was a job that pays what I needed but won’t suffice my inner yearning to explore the deepest recesses of my reveries.

It’s a feeling of being so broken hearted when I’m not even in love.  I just want to sleep long and wake up to a calming day where I won’t worry about another night of futile communication to non-listening people who can’t deal with their own simple problems.

I’m close to learning pottery just to break this stoic marathon.  I need anything that will rescue me from the emotional abrupt and forced hibernating status I’m being enslaved right now.

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