Dear Wormwood

It is nearly two in the morning and I still 16 profiles to write. What of that? The important thing is, no matter how distasteful my task has become, to keep on, trudging ahead, even though I don't feel like it, even though I stopped feeling like it a long time ago. In fact, where this project is concerned, did I ever feel like it?

Doubtful.

I see his lips curl in a mocking sneer. "You see, I knew you wouldn't finish. You don't have what it takes to stick it."

And I say: "Oh yeah, then you're double the fool to have hired me."

He shrugs: "Oh well, you came cheap. What can I say?"

And I say: "You don't seriously expect to drag this damn thing on do you? I mean it's already taken forever, we're not talking to each other and when we do, we're barely civil. Other than royally screwing me by making me work for more and more time, with the law of diminishing returns on my back, what do you get from it? You hate me nearly as much as I hate you."

And you say: "You got that right. But I need to win. It's all about winning. And crushing you beneath my heel. You think you can bark? I'll make you howl. And just to be ornery, I will draaaaag out paying you. How's that for charming?"

And I say: "Oh screw you. If I keep talking to you here, I'll burn all the documents, tell you to go screw yourself and take off on my road trip right now. Today. I can't let you get inside my head. You're not worth the emotion, not even this anger. I have to remember that."

And you say: "Oh yeah? Good luck. Hop little bunny, hop. You'll find that you end up doing what I tell you to do. Eventually. Remember that. Over and out."