onomatopeia...prostitution...(and) More on this later...

I don't know if I've ever disliked a job more than I do the one I just quit a couple of weeks ago. What brings the bile to the back of my throat about this job today, at the Hotel Shmotel Shangri-La in lovely Santa Monica, California, is that as much as I disdain working there, tonight will be the second time I've worked there since quitting and I will be working an event tomorrow night (Saturday). Now why in the world did I agree to work there this second and third time if I hate the spot so much? Alas, poverty and near desperation can make a man do things he would not normally do in his right mind. So, I guess I am operating out of a wrong mind or maybe a "wronged" mind. Which one do I think? Like most things, it is probably a little mixture of both of those conditions. Regardless, the dull pain begins to creep up and down the complex lattice-work of emotions that I now begin to mine in hopes of controlling the fear and discomfort that assaults my vulnerabilities. Uggghhh. Yes, onomatopoeia is necessary to adequately describe what that sour in my belly feels like...nasty, but I have to be thankful for the chance to churn hours to duckets- the metaphysics of temporal prostitution... More on this later...