Bullshit job
I hate my job. Why do I have to do nonsense work day after day? I can’t find any meaning at my job. Therefore, I often say “fuck” under my breath to myself. My stress is piled up day by day. Furthermore, if I have to continue such a horrible job until the end of life, I want to die immediately. I find myself hoping that Monday never comes. Please oh my Lord. By the way, I had makunouchi bento for dinner but I didn’t have appetite because I was completely exhausted.
Heads-up! These aren't journal entries – they're crafted essays written in English.
Thoughtful, personal, and cross-cultural.
Contemporary artist based in the Netherlands. I’ve learned at an Art College and Culinary Institute. I attempt to connect ART and FOOD.
