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I'm locking the door on you

Capitalist society, you are asking too much of me, and then I realize--

This is a test. But of course, it is only a test.

Can we make her do it? Can we make her say yes to more? She hasn't backed down yet. Let's see how much more we can get out of her.

Then I unlock the door on them. On the characters whose names I can no longer keep straight. I see life and want to reach for it. What's stopping me?

I am awake at 1:30 a.m. I am wide awake. So I get up and finish the vignette that I was working on before I went to bed, the first vignette, the first creative words, that I have written in at least three months, and then I write in my journal.

It is at that point I realize that I am teeming with rage, so I write in my journal trying to figure out why I am so angry.

What do I do? Tell me, what do I do? I am mostly aware of the problem. I don't know what to do.

But this week, I am locking the door on the other.

It was three months before I even copied my old stories and notes into this computer. I knew I couldn't handle writing stories and having this job.

Now I realize I can't handle having this job without writing stories.

In the end when my life is over, I know what will be left. There will be me, and my words. Do I flatter myself that the gods will be any closer to me in my final moments, in my last breath of life, than they are now. Do I fancy that angels will gather round my bed and bind me in their loving arms?

No, I will feel the coldness that I have always felt, the coldness in my own mind that is emptiness.

So let's get back to the game. If I want to die in misery, then I should write no more stories. Then I should be their puppet and attempt to placate myself with their religions. But what is in my own mind is all that I have, it is all the religion I can give myself.

I want to love others. I want to give joy. Sometimes. Today, I want to embrace the cold ones in my own mind that I have neglected while building my altar to the capitalist deity. I want to be with them so that I can understand myself.

I hate this place, she declared while standing behind me, to no one in particular. I felt such passion in the words, and I felt so glad she said it. I am not as put off by her negativity as others may think. In fact, it ministers to me. I hate it, too. Always have, always will.

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