Torn between that feeling of complete apathy to the work I do, and a burning passion to protect the area of knowledge and ability that I've carved out for myself.
Like, on the on hand: couldn't give melted diarrhoea in a plastic cup, as much as the work gives me the bum squirts due to stress. But on the other hand: I will ball my fist around a roll of dollar coins and smack a bish who steps on my plot.