And it just doesn't work out the way I want it to
And I get real frustrated, and like I try hard to do it,
And I take my time, but it just doesn't work out the way I want it to
It's like I concentrate on it real hard
But it just doesn't work out
And everything I do and everything I try
It never turns out, it's like, I need time to figure these things out
and it was stupid of me to forget about three-day-barbecue holiday weekends, because I want to get down to Akron for that Finster art exhibit and maybe hit up the wax museum of the local televangelist and some weird flea markets and that fabulous burrito place in Kent, but everyone and their mom wants the day off too, and despite clearing it with the usual parties, others still deservedly enveloped in a golden glow of newfound domestic bliss have inadvertently left me possibly stuck covering the office where the phone will probably not even ring instead of documenting the absurdity south of the borders of Clevelandia.
Maybe it'll all work out, but right now it's not, and, well, it gets old to be doing the right thing and always feel like I'm getting shortchanged and stiffed, hitting the glass ceiling, being told I should be thankful for the pittance thrown my way.
First world problems, rust world problems, whatever. It gets frustrating to feel so stuck. I shouldn't complain, especially since I've got the best fellow peons one could ask for and work that is consistently meaningful and interesting, but the dynamics above all that, the absurdity of middle management and the stupidity of my city and country, it really starts to get me down.