My Job

Everyday, our lives gives us something to do. We either choose to like what we do, or we can choose to hate it. Most of the time i choose to hate it. I hate my job. So repetitive. So boring. I take pictures of little kids. One rigth after the other. Line 'em up, spit 'em out. No variety but the different upbringings of the little brats. Tall ones, small ones, shy ones, annoying ones. They're all the same. Look at me. Smile. Click. Great. you're done. Now get out of here. I want to leave. Rip my unifore off, and i am free. Burn my name tag like it was some kind of melting toy soldier. Slowly softening and giving way to sweet gravity. Once deadened by the heat, i cool it, only to be worn again. Pricking the little pin. It pokes my not so bored mood out the window. Waving good bye, i witness it leave. Good bye activity. Hello boredom. wave after wave of unrelenting boredom. killing me just the same.