What the world does not understand is that there are a lot of MEs.
I, the evermore bigoted, neurotic, stringy yet utterly perceptive worker who goes to the office earlier than the usual nine to fivers. While everyone is still busy snoring their way to dreamland, I go to work, with a heavy heart and butt to boot. Clock goes cuckoo and I jerk awake, take a bath, brush my teeth, pick what bag goes to these shoes, hail a jeep, swipe my card, eat breakfast and say hi to everyone with a huge smile on my face. Everyday, I grumble and whine about this stupid reporter, this arrogant sonofabitch cameraman, the haughty, self-important superiors. Everyday I pass by a family living on the streets and I interrupt myself from feeling crappy about my own life. Everyday, the cycle continues and I wonder how much I aged since I started this job.
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