I don't want to work

Monday May 17th 9:27pm

I am bored. I don't watch tv, and I've exhausted myself of the internet. Writing tonight has become a labor of something that I don't know. My mind is caught between creativity and numbness. My eyes are glazed, heavy. I should probably go to bed, but I know I'll lay there, thinking of my next story. Hours will pass before I am at ease and dreaming. Then I'll awake. 4:30am the alarm will go off, I'll mumble something incomprehensible to even myself, get up and hit the snooze button. This will go on for the next thirty minutes or so. I'll never actually fall back asleep. I'll just lay there, thinking up excuses and ideas to get out of work. Sick? Naw. Death in the family? Nope. Car won't start? No. Ahh, fuck it, I'll just go. It can't be that bad. At 6am I'll clock in. At 6:15am I'll load up the truck with fifteen or sixteen too many mattress' and boxsprings and frames and headboards. Some of these fuckers weigh close to 300lbs. And at 6:30am, the last fucking thing I want to do is lift a 200lb mattress, but I do it, and for shit pay to boot. After loading the truck, I'll have to unload an even bigger truck, with a shit ton more mattress' and boxsprings. These will also have to be put into stock. By about 7:30am I will be on the road with one of the fuckers that drives the truck and all day we'll deliver beds to customers. Who knows when I'll clock out. Could be 2:30pm. Could be as late as 7:30pm. Fuck it! This is what I do. Goodnight.