Been bustin my hump since I was twelve. I wanted shit, parents struggling with providing the bare necessities, so I went for my own. No coincidence that I started drinking around the same time. Been punchin a clock for eighteen years now, interjections of creative outlets here and there, but the majority of my energy and mental resources has gone to the man. More than half my life handed over to individuals that only cared about the bottom line, not the status of my ass or sanity. I need an extended, nay the rest of my life, bullshit break.

I make it sound like I started mining coal, or gutting tuna in some cannery before I barely had peach fuzz gracing my balls. Actually, come to think of it, the work I did from twelve to fifteen while physical labor was the only time I was essentially my own boss. My task masters were people in the hood, but I only labored when I wanted to, and refused jobs that felt like an ass rape. In the early stages of my prepubescence I was bringing in an average of a hundred dollars a week cash. Began the seperation from the dependence of my folks earlier than most kids.

Mowing lawns, picking weeds, cleaning gutters, washing cars, raking leaves, ( actually along with two other enterprising youths developed our own company called "buck a bag" with a written perspectus, or whatever the goonie goo goo its called, based on the idea that we charged one dollar per each bag of leaves we raked up, tips welcome ) shovelling snow, clearing trees of dead branches, helping out the green thumbs, and whatever other chore we could convince people they should allow us to do for cash. I also started baby sitting for five or six families from church.

Around fourteen with westward moving gentrification putting its mark on my hood, yuppies had invaded hardcore. Including the couple that renovated the crib across the street and moved in with their newborn. Two weeks after the kid was born, his mom, who had a transcendental meditation company to run, started paying me to help take care of him, which I did till he was five. Best fucking kid on earth. I love that little guy. Still get reports from his mom on how he's doing. Between taking care of coolest kid in St.Louis, being responsible for all of their lawn work, and housesitting each time they took extended vacations, they were the only peeps in the hood I worked for. Even after I took a "real" job at fifteen as a cook at the pizza restaurant at The Galleria, I still worked for them in my spare time, and the money was good.

That pizza job all the way up to the job I currently hold has put me on the bend over and take it with no vaseline assembly line of bullshit. I need a bullshit break.