I stare into the abyss and think about how much I've done to be here. 20 years of studying, the countless hours spent staying up for exams, scrapping by one a meal for the week. So many sacrifices, the work of hundreds of people, the time they have sacrificed, their blood, sweat and tears.

All to get to this moment.

I stare into the abyss and think about my reality. The lack of sleep has caused depression, and with it, a loss on my grip of reality. Is this moment real? is this a dream? a mere facsimile ? I can't tell. When did my life become this?

Dazed, I glare at my one true enemy. No reaction.

The sense of urgency combined with a sense of helplessness causes me to lash out. My first physical reaction to the immense amount of rage that has built up inside of me.

I kick the machine. "Work! **** you! work! Can't you just ****** print the pages of this stupid case without jamming you useless hunk of junk."

The printer stays still. As with all evil, it seems to take pleasure in my pain. slowly whirring, it begins to do its job. And then halfway through, it jams again. Coughing sputtering, no. laughing, singing.

I turn to go back to my office and try again for the tenth time today. As I do, I swear I see the machine smile at me.

I truly hate printers.