Today there was fighting at work. Or rather commotion. One of the blissfully, mentally unequipped had a fit. His own head was the main target. I can't help feeling slightly humble when such an event settles in my mind. He's a grown man. He's not even a child mentally. Life is not fair. But then again no one said it is, except for some religiously ignorant. But I say again, life is not fair.
This of course raises the further fact that man is a wretched being trying to look for meaning where there is none. Looking for God where there is only inequities and stardust. Living by philosophies is overrated though and so, I'm back at square one. Standing there, watching his rage filled eyes, feeling his spasmodic limbs in my hands as I try to hold him down. There were four of us holding him. Or was it five? And the rage, was it because he was not allowed to sleep in the afternoon? Or did he try to rebel? A desperate struggle against the body some fucked up deity supplied him? But no, he was probably just tired. Like the rest of us.
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