Did you ever meet people who should have warning labels stitched on their foreheads? Not the sex offenders. We should just castrate those assholes. Get it over with. Neuter them like dogs.
Sorry, rage at my abusers.
Anyway, I’m talking about those people that are just soulless. The hacks. The washouts. The ones with the fancy offices. They should be labeled by Jesus, or the government, or some humanitarian organization. I picture Big Red Letters across the forehead. FUCKING SOLD OUT.
That’s my boss. My former boss. Sorry. As predicted, I was fired for my writing. Sorry. Sorry. I was laid off. And it had nothing to do with this blog. It was just a coincidence that the CFO called me into his office a week ago.
We found your blog, Thomas. He smelled like old money, stale and musty. This is very troubling, indeed.
My boss told me they were letting a lot of managers go. There was a shortage in new projects. Budget cuts, you see. But every other manager was rehired. In reality, only my name was cut.
I’m surprised by my reaction. I’m strangely contented. I’m feeling very Zen about this. The future that I fear does not exist. It is only my imagination. The future will be created by my action. What do I want my future to be?
I want it to be bold and daring. I want it to be honest and raw. So I should let my emotions out more. I should be honest about how I’m feeling, at least with myself, always. I should follow my emotions, trust them. If a direction feels wrong, alter course.
I’m going to try that for a while, being zen about things.
But more about my boss, the sell out. She sold out for money, prestige, a whiff of power, the lie of security. She has a nice car and a house. She has a husband. I met him. He’s dull. Her children are ugly. She has a pool in the yard, I bet she has a a gay lover tucked away somewhere.
And she always looks bored. Sometimes, she looks like she’s crying through dried up tear ducts. Crusty. She pinches back pain with her facial muscles. She grimaces and moves her head a lot when she talks. She avoids eye contact, aggressively. She jerks her body violently in a manic craze when she walks. She’s always behind schedule, always late, always frazzled and unkempt.
She always made me want to meditate more.
And she fired me today. This hot mess of a woman fired me. Sorry, she laid me off. She has a job and I’m jobless. And I called for unemployment, but I’m considered an independent contractor by Big Brother. No benefits for Tommy.
It is what it is. Staying Zen. In fact, I’m going to try to be Zen about most things from now on. I want to study the moments of my life. I want to get to know my consciousness.
So, I shouldn’t hate my boss. I shouldn’t make fun of her, call her a washout burlap sack of a fucking loser. That’s just a waste of time and energy. You see, I realize that her whole life rests upon her current employment, and today her job was to fire me. Sorry, lay me off. Yes, she’s just another sad person caught in this dysfunctional American system. She’s just like me, just like all of us. But she didn’t have to be such a cunty whore about it.
But anyway, maybe she didn’t like doing it. Maybe it really pissed her off, outraged her. Maybe they told her to terminate me because of my writing, she disagreed vehemently, but had to follow orders in the end. Maybe a part of her liberal heart died today. That would be sad, honestly.
But that’s just my speculation. I don’t really know this bitch at all. She might be a sociopath ice-demon that jerked on her clit right after she fired me.
Mmmmmm sorry…. I laid him off…that’s right…right there….a little lower…
That’s probably more accurate, but I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt. Hey boss-lady, no crying. I know it hurt to fucking fire me. Sorry…lay me off, but no worries. I forgive you. I understand how it is. It has us by the genitals, this corporate system. And it will kill off most of us.
It’s a horror story.
But again, you don’t have to be such a passive aggressive cunt about things. I mean, fuck.