Don't let UPS touch your package.

UPS called this morning. It’s been 4 weeks since I stopped showing up for work. While normally I would insist on telling them all my thoughts, I answered the exit interview questions with a quiet dignity, and they met my subtle comments with the usual patronizing attitude.

I wish they knew how I wanted to change things. I wish they could read Post Office by Bukowski.

Marx’s surplus value theorem is out of control at UPS, or any other international business for that matter.

I went downtown today, in the pouring rain, and walked through the streets in a t-shirt and jeans while the business men huddled under umbrellas, a vain attempt at a barrier between their suits and the rain. I looked at them and thought, “I’ll never be you,” as the rain mixed with the oil on my slice of pizza.

I am going to a wake tomorrow for a good friend’s grandmother. I suppose the usual pondering of my own mortality is an order.

I’ll never grow gray.