What my work meant to me….

After having been throughly reduced to nothing. The only real tangible piece left in my life is my work. It’s the one thing that has kept me sane through periods of having absolutely nothing left to live for. Being that I have no friends, no wife, no girlfriend, no job, and no one to talk with, it’s been the only thing that helps.

It seems my work has been totally disregarded as being worthless trash. It had been my hopes that people would care, or that they would notice. I guess that’s what happens when you work in a vacuum like I have the last twenty years. Had hoped that people would care, or give a damn. One of the problems today is that no one reads anymore. No one takes the time to think, or read, or use logic and reason.

I pity them. Because they could have had some real conversations about what was written. But they didn’t want to talk about anything that I had written, not because it’s bad; no it’s only for the sole reason it’s something I had done. The problem isn’t the work in itself, the problem is that it’s my work. They don’t want me. Or anything that I may do.

They didn’t want to listen. No matter how good my points were made, they refused to think it through. Had anyone else done what I’ve done they would have shit themselves. Because it’s my work they feel it’s worthless. It’s my belief that they are really unkind. They could have cared.

Published by ctopher

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