Bear with a sore head

There is something definitely eating me up but I still have to determine what it is that’s making me feel and act like a bear with a sore head or a dog with a bone on its teeth or a cat on its eighth life. It’s really bad because I do not even like to watch the evening news anymore or read the newspapers. One more story about Iraq/Middle East/Afghanistan and I am going to scream! There is another suicide bombing, another kidnapping, another senseless killing. When will it ever stop? Maybe there is no hope for mankind? Maybe I am losing it? Or maybe I need a diversion to get me out of this slump…but what???

Someone sent me this funny poem—the Lost Dr Seuss Poem. It goes something like this-
I love my job. I love the pay.
I love it more and more each day.
I love my boss, he’s the best!
I love his boss and all the rest.

I love my office and its location. I hate to have to go on vacation.
I love my furniture, drab and grey and piles of paper that grow each day.
I think my job is really swell, there’s nothing else I love so well.
I love to work among my peers. I love their leers, and jeers and sneers.
I love my computer and its software.
I hug it often though it won’t care. I love each program and every file.
I’d love them more if they worked awhile.

I am happy to be here. I am. I am.
I am the happiest slave of the Firm, I am.
I love this work. I love these chores.
I love the meetings and the deadly bores.
I love my job. I’ll say it again—I even love those friendly men.
Those friendly men who’ve come today,
In clean white coats to take me away!!!!