...of little value

I worked again. See how much I'm working? I know. Too often, and still not enough hours. I'm going to roll with it for now. I've already discussed this. 7:21pm: I'm working. I have lead coursing through my veins. It's a slow day, so I don't have 10,000 dishes prodding me to hurry up. With only a handful of dishes, I can't convince myself that I'm competing in the dishwashing Olympics. If this isn't the Olympics, then what's the rush? The time passes more slowly than I would like.

After work, I went straight across the street to the plaza to witness the drama continue to unfold. What a disappointment. Disappointment is inaccurate. More accurately, I observed reality, and I was maybe expecting a more uplifting version of it. I was there because I had nothing better to look at or listen to. I have nobody here to relate to, and sitting on the concrete down there didn't change that in the slightest, as maybe I wished it might. Of course I wished it, but did I expect it? No. I was there as a witness.

I sit and keep my mouth mostly shut, and don't even bother to introduce myself. I sat on the sidewalk in the midst of that scene, and was less than thrilled with what I saw and heard. I have met some really respectable and awesome people before in my life. I hope to meet many more. After this session, I felt a deficit. I need good people and positive energy to flick a hidden switch inside of me. This was a paranoid, accusatory, belligerent, and frighteningly psychotic visit to the plaza. My first inclination is to describe the whole circus. My second and final inclination is to forget it.