April 27th 2009

As of now, my patience with TRG is waning. I'm approaching nine months there and still I have found no rewards; growing incompetence with the management, horrible communication between the mothership and her children is slowly wearing down my mind, and my urge to become my dream is still driving me on like a man lost in a desert to find that oasis. My hands are bleeding from the cactus I grabbed, and now I'm looking for a new direction; north, I can keep waiting and head back where I just came from, south I can move on and keep trying other technical jobs if possible, west I can try and search the wanted ads and see if I can find something worth attempting, or east and just quit right now and start from scratch. I'm not sure as of now which I prefer, but east is my last option. I'm parching badly now. So I bit into the cactus to try and suck the little drops of water that are stored in this false palm tree. My gums bleed, my thirst quenched for just a little while longer but my time in this little chunk of desert is nearing its end, boys and girls. I feel night growing closer, the air cooling down for now, so I will camp in this false paradise for now. Send me a sign, oh Lord; if you're still listening. Tomorrow may be a new dawn; a whole new perspective, but that is highly unlikely. Goodnight blood-red moon, goodnight fake palm tree with your sour water, and good night the shadow of a fake pond