The Butcherhouse

"I hate my job." The four most universal words that were ever uttered or typed. But alas, my feelings have progressed from a bearable "hate" to an unbearable, and so I must begin the arduous process of pretending to be a good little fucking worker while ramping up my search for a less demoralizing method of paying the rent.

Meanwhile, we're doing double time on the wedding prep... and we've got to find a new place to live by August 15th...

Just a side-project, I'm working on a play called "The Butcherhouse Chronicles", set in a high school -- ruminating on Columbine, horror films, unrequited love, and the general sense of madness I feel in the air. I would really love it if I could get it up in some form or another by around Halloween. Which would mean I'd have to finish it some time before then.

I honestly feel that if I didn't have my writing as an outlet way back in high school, I could have very well gone out in a Columbine-esque tragedy.

But now I am an old man.

I need a vacation. I beg of you.