It's My Brain, Stupid

You should be satisfied.  You should be satisfied by the crumbs we offer you as we hide behind our desks eating cake.
FUTA.

You should be mesmerized.  You should be mesmerized by the amount of names of big wigs in the field that we toss around in your presence as we engage in mental masturbation in public with no shame.
Unenthusiastic. 

You should be enthusiastic.  You should be enthusiastic about cleaning up kitten shit and then being tested to see if you can remember to initial a place in the notebook where you gave the sick kitten medicine.
Checking my totem.

You should be grateful.  You should be grateful when we offer to get you a ripoff "job" assembling products at home.
Krite.

You should be motivated.  You should be motivated by the idea of listening to a thousand call-in center conversations and transferring them into text.
Enraged. 

You should be awestruck.  You should be awestruck  because we were staff at a community residence for individuals with a traumatic brain injury.
Disgusted.



sapphoq healing traumatic brain injury says: This is Briella.  Who is Briella, you say?  It's my brain, stupid.  But not just and only my fractured brain.  My fractured dreams.  My fractured life.  This is my obsession.  Not to start over again at the bottom rung with your  sour vomitus directions about how to engage in faux-normality.  Your goals are not my goals.  If you want me to invest in something, then give me something to invest in.  If you are not going to help me, then don't hinder me.  Just get out of my way.   I am done with your platitudes.  Your handouts are poisonous.  This is my time to shine.  Get off of the stage.