I am a zombie.

No, don’t get me wrong. This is not a new fiction blog about walking dead. I’m talking of real life, of decisions made, of wanting to go in a specific direction in order to fulfill your dreams or at least earn a living, and encountering a wall again and again.

I’m not afraid of hard working. I like challenges, I like my job, I have knowledge and a love for all kind of animals (yes, not only pets) beyond the average. But I’m not stupid. And I’ve already known slavery in other lives. I’m not up to go through the same for the umpteenth time.

I may have seen my actual coworker in a dream before I actually met her, but turns out I was right about not wanting to be part of the job. I was reluctant to join her for a reason. It’s a shame because she’s a very nice person and a valid professional, but I think she’s wasting her time trying to make a business work in such conditions. Maybe it is worth for her, but it is not worth for me.

So, I had my doubts if this new job meant I was still alive. I’m finding out I’m not. At most I’m prolonging the agony I already mentioned in my last blog post. I am a zombie, ready to die and this time, yes, forget about my current shitty profession. Not even until my next life. Forget FOREVER, if I can.

I need someone to kill me, quick. Cut off my head, throw a spear through my chest, whatever you think is best to prevent me from wanting to be a vet again.

Death is better than being a zombie.