November 21, 2007

I received praise from my boss.

My boss gave me a lot of positive feedback yesterday. I was happy and will work well today. I am not working overtime right now. I will work just my eight hours and then I have a test at work for a promotion. Then I have class this evening. So I have a busy day today.

I am just going to do our income report to the government disAbility office then I will invoice the people who hired me as a web master then I will read and get ready for work.

Posted by petert at November 21, 2007 03:10 AM


You are doing quite better than me. I haven't found the trick to
keep a job yet. My pain in my body is too great. And I have ringing, crickets, and high pitched noises in my ears. Everyone around me clicks their pens repeatedly and stomp and do weird things.

But I have been writing poetry.

This is how I feel. The following is a poem of how I feel.

Not proud

It’s so sad no matter what I do, those closest are not proud
I would do all I could if I could only do that

I would dive the deepest ocean
I would live in desperation and despair

Only to hide my feelings so those I love would not worry
So they could live their lives in their hurry

To make friends and work and play and have family
With the occasional call to me

I would let them know all that was well with me
Always looking through rose colored glasses

But when they hang up it would be back to pain and sorrow
I live for a good minute like there is no tomorrow

Cause in my belief, tomorrow is a never ending story
Like, it might get better and I’ll be in Gods glory (NOT)

Of planning to prosper and not destroy
But this ones’ tomorrow has been destroyed.

All goals have been gathered
All hope has been battered

The piston has come down and smashed
The love of life, the smile has been dashed

Instead of a spark of life as would be the case
I have been spit in my face

Taking my smile they did succeed
A jaded edge, a broken sword they did breed

Not sure what is next
Not sure to look
Not sure the plans they do cook

You may ask, why don’t you leave the house?
You dare not do this if you’re a mouse

The world is too big with gangs of people
Trying to take my love of the steeple

Every way I turn, every way I run, every way I try
Is crushed, and man how do they pry

How sad it is, not to make them proud.

Posted by: Brenda at December 3, 2007 10:00 PM

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