Mice eat cheese

Hey, I'm writing a story for my creative writing class, and I just wanted some feedback about it. My first post here, so I hope its good.

I sat in my grey cubicle, mindlessly drooling over the images dancing across the glass. The screen glowed blue against my pale face as I wasted time, waiting to die. 32 and I'm already washed up. I hate myself. The figures in front of me silently swelled and receded, with the volume turned down so no one would know I wasn't working. The days seem longer and longer, a side effect of mixing insomnia and manic depression; just add water. I should be working on the reports about our income vs. the cost of production of shower curtains. Four years of college for this: shower curtains. My father was right about me. So I watch one of the meaningless videos all over the internet. You name it, I've seen it. In this particular video, I watched three South Africans brutally rape a young girl. I watched, not because I got some sort of pleasure out of it, but because it numbed me. Made me forget, made me not feel, made me forget how to feel. I continued to surf the web, finding more images most people would say are disturbing. But all these people are just as bad as I am, they just don't realize it. Their all stuck in this maze of grey, collapsible walls, white computer screens, and broken copy machines, just like me.
Then it was six.
I quickly made my way across the office. The people here think I'm insane. They think I'm gonna go postal and shoot the place up. I don't have the spine. I walk quickly; avoiding eye contact with everyone I passed. I slammed open the exit and walked to my car: a piece of shit Skylark. The seat was wet, I don't know why, and the entire inside smelled like mold and wet dog. I drove to the Korean owned mini-mart, picked up a case of factory outlet beer and got in line. I looked at the people in front of me, and I was disgusted. A pathetically false woman was purchasing piles of make-up and diet pills. She had a fake chest, bio-degradable lips and a counterfeit nose, with phony cheek-bones and a disposable tan. She was a sad excuse for a human trying to hold on to her youth with everything she had. A nauseatingly overweight woman was behind our counterfeit friend. She wore a red sundress that hung down to her callous knees, and was too busy yelling at her husband to notice that her child had wandered over to the janitor's bucket and was now splashing in the murky brown, disease infested water. A frail man in a plaid button up, ancient looking jeans, and tennis shoes that were coming apart clung desperately to his armful of cold medicines, the cheap stuff too. His eyes were sunk in and looking around in a paranoid frenzy; he was obviously a tweaker. Living in a trailer-park on the outskirts of LA lets you see all kinds of freaks. All bunch of rats in a maze.
What the Hell am I doing here?
Night had fallen by the time I got back to my car, and the lights glowing in the dark hurt my eyes as I drove home. Scratch home, where I sleep. ...Scratch that again, the one place where I don't have to do anything. I walked through the front door, now with a splitting headache. I went to the couch, turned on the TV, and broke open my first cheap beer. It was warm already. I looked for anything to watch, but it's hard when all I have to work with is seven channels, all of them feeding me the same shit. I settle for the news, now telling me more about the problems in the Middle East, and the economy, and global warming, and screwed up youth, and obesity and I wonder what the point is. We're all after the same shit in this maze. Power, money, cheese, it's all the same. I sat quietly and took another swig of my cheese, and laughed at my genius. A commercial comes on and I see some punk-shit queer in a band with girls and tattoos and sunglasses and big muscles, and I could tell he thought he was hot-shit. He was God as far as he could tell. I threw my empty bottle at the TV, adding to the broken glass under it. And another sleepless night started, just like every night before it, just like every night after it.
Please kill me.

I dig the Skylark. This piece reminds me of Fight Club, are you familiar with the writer? I really feel the hopelessness but I also I feel like things are about to change, like something really radical's gonna happen. This isn't where you're going to leave off is it?

I fucking love it. Jesus type the whole thing, ill give u my email add and just give it to me. XD. Nah... seriously i like this bit:

I looked at the people in front of me, and I was disgusted.

I mean im sure this happens to us all, when we're sick of ourselves for the day everyone else becomes bastards. And i love the way two authors could take the same scene and give two seperate accounts of it, say you called them losers, i could say they were beautiful and strang;y betrayed by the world and all of humanity, that they were just trying to live their lives and get through the damn maze hoping the cheese tastes nice. Yeah its good, i hope the next part is just as good or even better. You'd think four years of college would give you something.

I agre with Chris, his life is bullshit right now, but something is going to happen. oo, cud be anything, could be that he finds out that he is wanted by the pakistani mafia(lol). And then he has to hide under water with an amazing woman then realises he likes fish?!!! wtf.