Why did I ever quit? I am miserable wherever doing whatever. At least then I had the money to back it up. I had my friends. I hated it. I hate this, but I have no money and no friends. I am tired of manufacturing myself. A little from this. A little from that. I am an outsourced plastic trinket, cogged and connected of pieces from everyone in the assembly line. I am a final product wrapped in cellophane. I would be who I am, should I find out who that is.
Why be afraid of exposure when no one is looking.
I quit for misery. I quit for survival.
I quit so I could write this?!?!?!?!
