the more the timing will be off

You’re not like the others. I’ve seen a few; I know. When I talk, you look at me. When I said something about the moon, you looked at the moon, last night. The others would never do that. The others would walk off and leave me talking. Or threaten me. No one has time any more for anyone else. You’re one of the few who put up with me.
—  Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451

The longest job I held down was three and a half years. This job easily gave me enough stories to post here once a week for…indefinitely. Mostly of the “fuck managers” variety; they were 100 percent the reason I ended up quitting. Here goes (long story ahead)

The summer of 2015 I found out very suddenly I needed surgery. I asked my doctor if there was any way I could postpone until the fall, when we slowed down (because I would miss the 4th of July which is one of our busiest weekends). He said if I waited that long the surgery would be much more risky and he would have to refer me to a specialist in Atlanta. So we went ahead and scheduled the surgery and as soon as I got home, I put in the time off request on our scheduling app, and texted my KM (kitchen manager) and let him know what was going on, and that I would need accommodation, mostly carrying heavy things, afterwards. He approved my time off and my vacation days (yeah, we didn’t get sick days. Some vacation.)

Now, I was the prep cook in this restaurant. The only prep cook, in a scratch kitchen. There used to be two of us, but the other woman quit because they cut her down to ten hours a week, a whole damn year ago. I had been begging for them to hire another prep cook, because I was working 6 days a week and not taking any breaks because there was just. So much that needed to get done. So much. On my one day off the KM would do (the bare minimum of) prep, the rest of the time he’d send a line cook to help me out as time permitted, but I couldn’t ever count on that.

So what did they do? Three days before I had my surgery, the KM walked into the prep kitchen with a new hire and told me this is our new prep cook. He had actually been hired to work the line but it occurred to them that, hmmm, our only prep cook is going to be out for two weeks, and maybe only having ONE person besides the KM who knows how to prep is maybe not a good thing, just, in general? (Ya think?) So I had three. Days. To train this guy. Thankfully he was smart and a hard worker, he even kept a notebook. But still there was no way he was gonna learn it all in three days.

So, anyway, I had the surgery, but had some (pretty scary but ultimately very fixable) complications that set my recovery time back a few days. Again, I texted the KM, letting him know what was up, basically just that I had complications and had to go back to the hospital. Now I’m not fishing for attention by any means, but the polite thing in this situation is to express concern and well wishes. He responded to my text with “Heard”. That is literally all he had to say to me having to go the fucking ER two days post op.

Then to top it off, I came down with a stomach virus the day before I planned to come back, and that knocked me flat on my ass (again). And of course, I wasn’t supposed to lift anything more than 20 pounds. I know I should have taken another week off, but I felt bad for the New Guy because I genuinely liked him, and felt guilty for basically throwing him to the wolves (even though it was zero percent my fault), so I went back to work still feeling like crap. Around noon I was reeeaally feeling that mistake, and decided to go home, but I ended up staying because they hadn’t even bothered training New Guy while I was out, just gave him busy work like slicing meat and portioning things. So I kind of sat around and directed him.

Then even after I was feeling better, I still had to have him carry heavy stuff for me because my incision was still healing. And then come to find out the KM was badmouthing me, acting like I was lazy because now I had a ~man~ to do the heavy lifting for me. Just, fuck that guy.

But, I did have a small measure of satisfaction. About…8 months after I finally quit, KM called me out of the blue, to check up on me, he said. Asked me how my new job was going, etcetera, and he said a couple times, and I quote, “I ain’t mad at ya”. Now my first reaction was to say “I wouldn’t care if you were”, but I’m not that unprofessional. Still, I got suspicious, cause you weren’t interested in checking on me when I had major surgery. So I texted one of my old coworkers and she confirmed New Guy was still there, but the person they hired to replace me was basically useless and that prep was shit now (confirming my suspicion that the KM was feeling me out about coming back to work for him).

Lmaoooo good luck with that. My ass is gone and it’s staying gone.

anonymous asked:

Pardon me, Mod H, can you be inclined to share your thoughts on the Cursed Child? All your thoughts? In a detailed, well written essay? Or just a large collection of shitposts?

M8 I’ve already done the series of shitposts. You’re getting a rambly bullet point list, and you’re gonna like it!

Ok so this is going under a cut for those who don’t want spoilers (basically under the cut will spoil nothing that you can’t read in the script book and my opinions, then there will be an extra bit at the end for stuff I genuinely was surprised by under an extra spoiler warning.)

Tl;dr, I really liked it, and though there’s still huge issues with the script imo it was a very well-done show, the performances were excellent and it looked amazing. It’s a great experience and if you get the chance to see it, don’t pass it up.

Keep reading

It seems like “stories” are definitely still a ~thing~ this season. Hunters told Dean that stories are told about him in the hunting circles. And a demon told Sam that stories would be told about her if she killed him.

Bur really… what kind of stories are told about them?

I mean, they’ve died a billion times. But do the hunters know how bad it got last year? Do they know it got so bad that Earth, Heaven, and Hell all teamed up in order to take down the Darkness? Do they know that the All-Realm Teamup failed, and then Dean Winchester succeeded?

I heard they keep demons chained up in their basement.

Well, I heard the older one is canoodling with an angel.

You sure? The way I heard, it’s the King of Hell he’s banging.

Did you know that the younger brother was possessed by Lucifer for, like, six years?

I heard they blew up an entire apartment building just to piss off one vampire. Not even to kill him - just to make ‘im angry. 

And I heard that the older one turns into the Hulk until his brother gives him pie.

cosmic-files-87  asked:

2/11/15 MSR for the angsty list....I know....I am an ass.... (but really!!!!! Please write that!!!!)

2 - I don’t need you. I don’t need any of you.

11 - You can’t keep hurting me and then demand I apologize instead.

15 - You betrayed me.

Author’s Notes: Okay, this one hurts. Like a kick to the groin kind of hurt. I almost feel bad. It is high angst & will probably piss some of you off. If you proceed – you were warned. Post IWTB.

Two Weeks, Too Cold

It’s been two full weeks since she’s seen him.

She can’t remember the last time she went more than a day without hearing his voice – What’s up, Doc? – watching him as he watched her, or felt his broad chest against her back as he spooned her to sleep.

I won’t be coming home, she had said. Don’t do this, he had begged.

Scully keeps telling herself that she made a mistake by letting him kiss her as she stood in their front yard with tears rolling down her face, by entertaining the notion that they could ever hide from the darkness. It was cruel, she thinks, because even then she knew that she wouldn’t be coming back home.

Which isn’t exactly true, because she did come home, briefly, to gather a bag or two of her belongings. Her chest aches at the memory – of the desperate tears and of his voice breaking on each  I’m sorry and please don’t leave me.

That was two weeks ago. Two weeks that have been filled with work, because if she can’t help the man she loves then at least she can help a child breathe. Two weeks filled with too much coffee, because her fingers feel ice cold without his own interlaced with them. Too little sleep, because her skin trembles and aches without his hands there to gentle away the nightmares.

Two weeks, she has decided, is long enough.

I just want to see him, she tells herself as she guides her car onto the long gravel drive that leads to their shared home. The house is modest, but cozy. Most of all, it’s theirs. The few tangible things they’ve shared in the past have been wrenched away from them – but not their home. No blood to scrub out of the carpet, no taped X in the window to summon life-threatening information. It’s just home, and it’s theirs.

She steps out of her car into the crisp air of early morning to pull open the gate, and she smiles to herself. The ritual of it is comforting. Countless mornings and evenings have began and ended with opening this gate, letting herself back into the beautiful, private world she shares with Mulder.

Pulling into her spot in front of the house, she sees a strange car. She frowns curiously. Did he go out and buy a car after I left? She wouldn’t put it past him, except that it would require his actually leaving the house (and nothing short of a psychic priest has convinced him to do so thus far).

On her walk to the front door, her heart begins to hammer against her ribs at the thought of seeing him again.  It’s only been two weeks, she chides herself. Still, she expects that he may be angry. When he’s hurt, he tends to deflect – in his case, that means petulant withdrawal and an abundance of sarcasm.

She draws in a deep breath and unlocks the door. He may still be asleep, she realizes as she steps into quiet darkness. It’s just after five o’clock in the morning. Just because she hasn’t been able to rest doesn’t mean he can’t.

But oh, she’s finally home. She closes her eyes, relishing the smell of Mulder’s aftershave mingled with the scent of the roses he had delivered to her office just a week before those goddamned agents showed up at the hospital. She remembers bringing them home, carefully tucking them into a vase of water. They’re beautiful, she had told him. Not as beautiful as you, he had replied, his hand tucked against the small of her back.

“Who are you?”

Scully starts at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, opening her eyes to see a woman standing at the threshold where kitchen becomes living room.

A woman.

Tall. Brunette. Holding a glass of water. Wearing only a t-shirt and a confused expression.

“This is my house,” Scully says, the words scraping past a throat that has gone as dry as desert sand. “Who are you?”

The woman stares back, tugging at the hem of her t-shirt uncomfortably.

No, not her t-shirt. Mulder’s t-shirt. Scully’s favorite shirt that Mulder owns, because it’s soft and worn and somehow still smells like the cologne he wore the first time she slept in his arms, even after all these years.

I’m going to be sick, this is not happening, oh Mulder what is going on…

The woman finally speaks, clearing her throat. “He – he said he lived alone.”

I’ve wandered into the wrong house, Scully thinks numbly. That’s the only explanation that makes sense.

But no. That’s Mulder’s shirt, and that’s the drinking glass my mother gave to me when we moved here. That’s the couch where Mulder and I made love less than a month ago.


This can’t be the wrong house, because that’s Mulder. He’s standing in front of her, and he’s not wearing my favorite shirt, he’s not wearing a shirt at all, and he looks terrified, and oh God I’m going to be sick…

“Mulder?” Her voice sounds tiny. Her hands are still freezing, but now her palms are sweating as her stomach churns. Please explain this, Mulder, she begs silently. Please please please please.

“Who is she?” When the other woman speaks again, Scully wants to scream at her. She has no right to ask that. Scully is the one who should be demanding an explanation. She’s the one who deserves an answer. Not this stranger, with her morning-after hair and her long smooth legs brushing the hem of Mulder’s shirt.

I’m going to be sick.

“Mulder?” This time, her voice is louder, sharper, less please tell me this isn’t what it looks like and more how fucking could you.

He doesn’t acknowledge the other woman’s inquiry, instead stepping toward Scully with his hand outstretched. “Scully,” he begins, and her name on his lips tells her all she needs to know. She’s heard him speak her names countless times – calling to her for help, playfully teasing her, comforting her in times of distress, moaning in ecstasy as she coaxes him to climax, even shouting in anger during a particularly intense argument.

Never – never – has he said her name with this desperate, helpless tone threaded through it.

The woman has disappeared, and Scully can hear her in the bedroom – our bedroom  – gathering her things, probably eager to get away from this house – our house – and whatever is about to happen between them.

Mulder moves forward, and she sees panic etched into the lines of his face.

She squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head as the full realization of what’s happening settles over her. “No,” she chokes, swallowing against a throatful of stomach acid. “No, no, no.”

“I’m sorry, Scully, please let me explain.”

Her eyes fly open, and she wraps her arms around herself. “Explain?” Her voice catches on a sob. “What is there to explain?” She stares at his face, his beautiful face, and it’s more than she can take, his eyes full of regret. She backs away, grappling for the doorknob.

“Scully, don’t leave. Please.”

Two weeks, Mulder!” Her stomach aches, her head pounds, and I need to get out of here, this is not happening. “I was gone two fucking weeks!”

She is hot and cold at the same time, her clammy palms sliding against the doorknob as her fingers shake uncontrollably. She feels the heat of his body behind her, and oh God, she wants to lean into him, just to warm her hands, but nonononono, she has to leave, she cannot stay another minute in this house.

When he places a hand against her shoulder, her entire body recoils. “Get the hell away from me,” she gasps, her breaths coming in shorter spurts now, her lungs burning.

The doorknob finally relents, and she shoves against the door, stumbling outside where it’s still so cold, it’s not home, and she can’t breathe, and fuck you Mulder how dare you how fucking dare you.

He follows her across the yard. “Scully, please.”

She doesn’t break stride or respond. She’s almost to her car when she feels his hand catch the arm of her coat. She jerks free, but his grasp is lighter than she expected, and the heel of her boot slides against a leftover patch of ice. 

Under any other circumstance, she would have caught herself. The reflexes instilled in her all those years ago in FBI field training never failed her before, but she can’t even catch her breath so how is supposed to support her full weight?

Maybe she doesn’t even want to.

Her knee meets the ground with a sharp crunch, and she hisses in pain.

Immediately, Mulder is at her side. “Oh God,” he says, and reaches for her again. She slaps his hand away, and finally the tears she’s been fighting break through, streaming hot against her chilled face.

“In our bed, Mulder,” she says bitterly, leaning back against the tire of her car. “I was gone two weeks, and you fucked someone in my bed.” She tries to suck in a lungful of air, but is met with resistance when the breath halts on a sob. So this is what suffocation feels like.

“I was drunk,” he whispers miserably.

“When are you not?”

He flinches, but continues. “I don’t know what happened. Scully, I don’t even know her.”

“Where did you meet her, Mulder?” She glares through her tears. “All this time, while I’ve been working, have you just been out meeting women to bring back to our home? Our bed?”

“Of course not,” he breathes, staring at her in horror. “Never. You know me better than that.”

“I thought I did,” she whispers brokenly. “I never believed you would do this. Not in a million years, Mulder.”

“Neither did I.“ His voice is pitiful and sincere.

She swallows thickly. “You betrayed me.”

He sinks all the way down beside her. “I know,” he says quietly. “I know, and I’m so sorry.” There is a heavy silence between them for a moment before he adds, “Scully, you left me.”

Scully shifts to face him, and grits her teeth against the pain that the motion sends shooting through her knee. “You’re unbelievable,” she spits venomously. “You screw another woman in my bed, on the sheets you bought for me on my last birthday, and you’re making this my fault?” She fumbles with the top of the tire, trying to pull herself to her feet.

“Scully, stop,” Mulder pleads. “You’re hurt – your leg.”

“You’re damn right I’m hurt,” she snaps. “And it has nothing to do with my leg.”

She gives up on standing for the moment. “You never answered my question,” she tells him, her eyes burning hot into his.

“What question?”

“Where did you meet her? I’ve never known you to socialize, but clearly, there are a few parts of your character I somehow missed in all our years together.”

He stares at his hands for a moment before meeting her gaze. “I went on a walk and ended up at a bar. It’s a couple miles down the road. I had more than I planned, and she – she offered to drive me home.”

Scully folds her arms tightly around her midsection. The tire is wreaking havoc on her back, but she barely notices.

“Classy, Mulder.” She closes her eyes again, but the tears fall anyway.

He sighs. “You left, Scully. You just left, and you wouldn’t return my calls. I didn’t know if you were ever coming back.”

Scully tenses as another wave of nausea washes over her. “I left because you wouldn’t leave the house unless it was to spiral back into your fucking paranoid obsessions!” 

She covers her face with both hands. “You can’t keep doing this,” she sobs. “You can’t keep hurting me, and then demand that I apologize instead.”

“When have I done that?” His voice is laced with disbelief. “When have I ever done that, Scully?”

Fuck you Mulder fuck you fuck you fuck you –

“Fuck you,” she cries, gripping the edge of the tire again and heaving herself to her feet. “I don’t need you.” 

She ignores the throbbing in her knee when she puts weight on it. “I don’t need anyone,” she says, her voice breaking. “I think we both know I’ve survived greater losses.” She wrestles with her purse, digging for her keys. “But it’s fine. I don’t need any of you.”

Mulder touches her shoulder, and she shrugs him away again. “Don’t touch me.” She yanks her car door open. “I told you to get away from me.”

“Scully, I’m sorry,” he says weakly. “You may not need me, but I need you. I always have.”

“You didn’t need me last night,” she tosses back viciously as she forces key into ignition. “I can’t take care of you anymore, Mulder. Figure it out.”

He positions his body so that she is blocked from closing the door. “Scully,” he tries again, his voice echoing with despair. “I’m begging you. Please. You came back for a reason. Please don’t leave again.”

Her chin trembles as she answers him in a voice as brittle as dry ice. “I left for a reason, too.”

She grasps the door handle in her hand despite the remaining tremors. “Move.”

He slowly backs away, and at last she sees tears shining in his eyes. It’s too late, it’s too much this time, I can’t.

The sound of her slamming door causes him to jump. The pressure she places on her gas pedal makes her moan with pain as her knee protests the movement.

When she glances in her rearview mirror, she sees a tear-blurred image of her entire world, standing with his arms hanging helplessly at his sides.

He’s still not wearing a shirt, she realizes.

Go back inside, Mulder. It’s too cold out here.

I would know.


Before you ask, yes, there will almost certainly be a follow-up.

Fighting the “new animal” itch

I think this is something that most keepers have struggled with at one time or another. Getting a new animal is just so thrilling that it’s easy to get caught up in the “oh just one more won’t hurt” mentality, until the moment that “just one more” is suddenly too much and you’re in over your head.

So today I thought I would just share some of my personal tricks for staving off the “new animal itch” when it strikes.

1) Recognize and set limits for yourself before you reach them. It helps if you can identify what your biggest limiting factors are (space, money, time, personal stress level, etc). For example right now my partner and I’s biggest limiting factors are space and time, so even though we may have the money for more animals we are avoiding getting any that would cut into our limited free time and herp-room space.

2) If you are trying to avoid getting new animals (whether indefinitely or until you have more space, time, money, etc) tell other people so they can hold you accountable.

3) Focus on upgrading enclosures or otherwise improving the lives of the animals you already have (or just streamlining your care of them). For me researching and implementing new diet plans or planning new enclosures (or upgrades of existing ones) can be just as exciting as planning to bring a new animal home. Instead of getting a new lizard maybe start breeding feeders so you can more cheaply and easily feed the ones you already have. Instead of a new snake start planning a naturalistic enclosure for the one that’s in a bare bones enclosure. Having an animal-related-but-not-a-new-animal project to focus on really helps me.

4) Make a “save for later” list of animals you really want to keep someday. This may seem counter-intuitive, but it helps me to just put an animal on the list and say “I can’t keep it in my current situation, but I’m putting it on this list to save it for later”. It also helps me remember that just because I can keep something right now doesn’t mean I should; even if I have the resources to keep a lower maintenance species right now I should hold off because it might later prevent me from having the resources to keep one of my dream species.

5) This is a big one: GET RID OF OLD UNUSED ENCLOSURES. Nothing is more tempting than having an empty tank lying around just waiting to be filled with something. Unless it’s a one-of-a-kind enclosure that you’ll never be able to find again just sell it or give it away.

I would love to hear any other helpful advice you guys have on this subject!

i feel like i hear westallen in so many songs now. 

LIKE THIS (any season, especially this one):

“If I had a thousand lives
I’d find you a thousand times
You know I’d come back again”

AND EVEN THIS (again could be any, but reminds me most of 2B): 

“When you ask me if I’m in love with you
I would say you must be joking

I would say I, I would say I am”

anonymous asked:

It seems like no matter what I do, or how hard I work. No matter how many times I volunteer to come in on a day off when they're understaffed, or how many times I volunteer to cover someone's shift, even if it leaves me working a double. No matter how much I give, it just seems like it's never enough. They always want more, and never give anything in return. This is such a thankless job.

anonymous asked:

The real question is, will Harry be using his falsetto? I love love falsetto Harry and I hope he's been training so that he doesn't hurt his voice.

Well the more time he spends in LA with his own vocal coach and away from Helene, the better off we’ll all be. *cue the memories of his vocal regression during OTRA and also me slowly dying*

anonymous asked:

I feel like ravenclaws are perceived as the smart ones because they constantly ask questions. Like the kid that always holds up the class from leaving because they have one last question for the teacher? Or like they ask questions that other people take for granted. Idk I just had a lot of thoughts about ravenclaws

I see where you’re coming from for sure. We’re the ones at the front of the class with our hands raised because we have endless questions. We’re either the teacher’s favorite or least favorite (honestly both at the same time) and we somehow always manage to get the class off topic.

We’re ALSO the kids in the back who derail every conversation and challenge things the teacher says. For our own enjoyment and also because we seek a more stimulating conversation that what we’re being provided.

We’re also the ones not even listening a lot of the time because we have our focus in something else more interesting and stimulating to us. 

So yeah, that might be where we get the label from. 


-Caitlin (Ravenclaw)

anonymous asked:

Fuck coworkers who, when they have to do the exact same hours as you (and same duties), then ask you to take on their shifts that they have when you have your days off because they're 'tired'. Just do your own shifts! Stop putting more pressure on me when we do the exact same amount of work! Bonus points if the coworker then complains to the managers about you because they 'don't like you'.

I had a coworker like that when I was at DAK was constantly trying to get me to take her shifts and I did most of the time because more hours. This one time though I just couldn’t do it because the day care was closed and I had no one to watch my son. She got so pissed off and called me Judas the rest of the time I was there. You can’t please everyone.



I wrote a fuckin’ fic in honor of this occasion, giving myself the prompt of working through the first birthday she would have had with Mulder — her 30th, which was also right after her father died. 

Includes: rambling answering machine messages, mention of Scully’s sex drive, day drinking, menstruation, astrolabes, EZ OFF, light notes of Fox Mulder’s Tragic Backstory, a depressing salad, Scully’s Living Will, a U2 song, Fiestaware, and a quote from Ulysses. 

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Elgang reaction when elsword try to crossdress and end up being pretty (add the master and glave too)

Aisha stares, then smacks him with her staff and runs off.  How can Elbrat be prettier than her? Cue identity crisis.

Rena smiles, compliments him, and asks if he’d like to get some moisturizer with her the next time they end up in a town.  She’s confused at how offended he is by this.  Gender roles don’t really exist for elves, and sometimes she forgets humans have them.

Raven sort of stares.  And asks what the fuck is going on.  And stares some more.  It’s really awkward between him and Elsword for a while.

Eve takes about fifteen pictures before Elsword asks what she’s doing. And, with the most dead face ever, Eve replies, “Blackmail.”

Chung nearly has a heart attack.  Once he’s over himself, he cautiously steps forward and pokes at one of Elsword’s fake boobs.  They end up in an argument over whether or not it’s still perverted to do that if they are, in fact, fake boobs.

Ara runs at Elsword, thinking he’s Elesis for a moment, and treats him to a long rant about her annoying bra without really looking at him. Thankfully, she realizes her mistake and apologizes and slinks off before she gets into her rant about periods.

Elesis cackles, gives Elsword a noogie (messing up his hair in the process) and parades him around in a headlock, declaring that everyone should look at her beautiful little brother.  What are sisters for but embarrassment, after all?

Add couldn’t give less of a shit.  He does take pictures for blackmail, but other than that, what’s the point, really.

Lu cackles and tells Elsword he could be one of her demon concubines.  Elsword isn’t sure if this is a compliment or an insult.  Lu says it’s a compliment, but Ciel is quietly cackling in the corner, so that’s up in the air.

Ciel doesn’t really care what Elsword decides to dress up as- oh no he’s cute. He’s staring at Elsword, trying not to nosebleed, when Lu makes her concubine comment and he cracks up.

Rose almost tries to snipe him.  Oh, it’s just Elbrat?  Oh.  Whatever.  She doesn’t care.

Ain asks confusedly if this is a new human fashion.  He compliments Elsword on his new look and, the next day, shows up also crossdressing.  If Elsword did it, he has to, right?

Solace, the only Master who hasn’t been absorbed into the El, stares and asks how Elsword thinks he’s going to fight in a dress and fake boobs. Maybe he made the wrong decision on who should carry the fate of the world.

Glave pretends to be unimpressed.  He goes to Luto afterwards and dies laughing.

Seventeen successfully wrap up their 2nd Japanese concert

Seventeen wrapped up their 2nd Japanese concert!

The boys had kicked off on the 15th in Kobe, performing a total of 6 times. They ended in Yokohama this weekend, and even though the boys haven’t officially debuted in Japan, they met with a total of about 50,000 fans.

The show started off with “Boom Boom”, then followed up with songs like “NO F.U.N”, “Shining Diamond”, “Chuck”, “Rock”, and more. Seventeen also performed in their units, with the hip hop unit performing “Fronting”, the performance unit performing “OMG”, and the vocal unit performing “When I Grow Up”. They also performed their fan song “Love Letter” in Japanese.

Hope everyone had a good time!


My Time Away From Me

My head hurts
My heart aches
My eyes burn
My mind turns
My feet can’t walk no more
On this road alone.

Time is needed to focus and think
Time to myself
Time away
Time off
Time to figure out
How to go on.

Away I need to get and be alone
Away from doubtful matter
Away from trouble
Away from clutter
Away from what drives me mad
And makes me feel dead inside;

From what I think about each night
From my insecurities
From my fears
From myself
From the way I can’t seem
To please me;

Me is all that’s troubling
Me is all that’s haunting
Me is all that’s left
Me is all I need
Me is in need of quality time
With myself and I.