Smelling the Reek of Dr. Fill...

I established a goal, but it made me itch, so I established another one that releived the itch but it made me break out in boils, so I established another one that assuaged the boils but made me pick all of the skin off of my fingers, so I established another one and my fingers stopped being pink and bloody but I began grinding chips of my tooth enamel off in my sleep, so I established another goal and most of my hair fell out but for a ring of wispy rind around my skull; so I established one last goal: to stop being fucking pressured into establshing and meeting goals--to stop being driven headlong by a bullshit attitude that every moment of every life must have something measurable to show for it--some fucking DELIVERABLE on your AGENDA--otherwise it is wasted time in the wasted life of a person not worth more than TOUGH LOVE, tough love, a bullshit doctor's version of peer pressure designed to get people barreling back down that fear-of-death track, designed to keep people productive for--of course--their own good.

I have a smoke.
I have a drink.
I have a mind, and an attitude.
I have the ability to take myself off the tracks, take a moment out of my life, take a drag, take a sip, and take a middle finger and point it straight up at you, Doc.

Remember, Doc -- you tell people to look in the mirror. Well, these people who you've got barreling down the tracks, driven driven driven by your ham-handed, "tough love" disguise for forcing upon them the fear of failure as a reason to live, these people are staring at a train headed right at them.

All aboard.

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