Thursday, August 24, 2006
This evening, as I chanted, "Chicky-chicky-chicky" over the chicken wings at work, I was again struck by just how much dignity I have lost since entering the labor force at the age of fourteen. Working at the place where I took piano lessons entailed much responsibility, but less loss of self-worth, than food service, which is for saps. "I do it for the free food," I console myself, but I nevertheless want to slit my wrists every time I smell fried chicken. I can never again enter a KFC. It is tragic, wie mein Leben.
Ich haße mein Leben.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 8:06 PM]