and so now i've got a triple-stitched belt loop hooked on a run away train of loss. i've lost my ability to tell what's you're really trying to tell me when you're silent. i can't trust my gut because it's poisoned with history of the same fear. am i smelling your guilt? maybe... or am i tasting your apathy? i can't tell any more. okay, so i've got a job to do. i've got a million of them, and i used to love the challenge of it all. now i love nine hundred ninety nine thousand nine hundred ninety nine of their collective challenge, and i...[ redacted]... the job with your name on it. i can't trust my assumptions, but i can't trust your answers, either. go figure. so this leaves me like this: i've got to just keep doing all nine nine nine, nine nine nine of my jobs with happiness, pride and vigor..because they truly bring me happiness, but just like a smudge on a lens, the work almost doesn't matter. almost.