life, is like a long passage that rambles on and on about random, irrelevant and insignificant topics. in other words, it is so pointless.
sometimes i work like crazy; i work like i would never feel tired; i make sure that i use up all twenty-four hours of my day; i pretend that i like my job; i make myself believe that i love what i am doing, hoping that all this preoccupation with work would make the time pass faster, and perhaps, i would be able to reach the epilogue sooner. but everyday is just a tiresome routine, and every week is a repetition of the previous one, and every month is like a vicious cycle of ups and downs.
work always turns me into a maniac, and an insomniac.
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