I think I might die...

So it's my sixth night in a row working. And, to be honest, this could quite possible be the worst job in the world. It's horrible. I hate it. Even more than my last job and that's saying something. Would it really be inappropriate to quit on Monday? I think perhaps. But given my current state of mind, I think it's the only thing I can do to save my soul. I am working for one sixth of my pay, six nights a week and it is quite possibly the most awful thing ever. And I mean ever. Hang on I think I've said this. This is slave labour man. Total and utter slave labour. If this is Guyanese culture, then they can stick it up their fat ass. I come to work. Go on facebook. Sub some terrible stories. Check my facebook again. Look at hotmail. Develop a sense of paranoia. See who's on messenger. Get told my job description is sub-editor. Cry because this too horrible a thought to contemplate. Have to listen to another annoying sub-editor. Want to smack her in the face. Infact I want to smack everyone in the face. Oooh rage is what I feel. Pure and utter rage. I am thinking the only way out is to head to Panama. Perhaps I can seek salvation there and speak alot of pigeon Spanish again. That's all from me.