The docs now tell me I should go into more detail. And to stop mentioning them in my posts. This IS my blog, and I'll mention you if I want to.
More detail, huh?
My name is Thomas Branson. I’m 28, I graduated from the local community college in 2006, I live in a small home with my girlfriend, Chelsea, and I work at a semi-boring job that pays just enough money to keep me happy. What do I do? I answer calls. Yeah, I’m that guy who redirects you to Customer Service, who then redirects you to me when you didn’t know what you were fucking talking about earlier.
But it really isn't all bad. My coworkers are decent enough people, and some of them know how to be around me without me wanting to go apeshit on their asses. The rest just sort of avoid me. And then there's the clients. Oh lord, the clients.
God, you people make me sick sometimes.
So why am I wasting my time talking to the internet when I’d much rather not be talking to you at all? Simple answer: the doctors made me.
Yeah, I have a bit of an anger management issue. I may have even punched out my brother one time at a family reunion recently. So my family pretty much no longer speaks to me anymore, and my employer said I should start taking therapy for my issues. So far it’s been a year, and all they’ve been able to do is find out that I have anger issues. Brilliant work, docs. When are we going to get around to fixing it?