Of Sunday afternoons and pointless introspections…

It's Sunday afternoon… The sun is shining and you're relaxing on the couch reading the paper or book you couldn't get into during the week right???

WRONG!!!

Typing out substandard pages on nondescript painters who no one one wants to know about anyway, is more like it…you are, like all slaves of the IT industry, making up for Holidays…welcome to the soulless world of capitalism, where everything is in “lieu” of something…. and suddenly u feel your shoulders tensing up and this dark fog of rage tingle up your spine… “This is not what I bargained for,” you say to yourself “they have *beep*up my *beeping* life” …they don’t care about quality… all they want is pages …and what about my dreams of making the world a better place to live in and all that jazz??? They don’t want to change the world…and I CANT change the world by writing about painters…not unless my answer for world peace is free art classes…
This is where you ask yourself “when exactly did I sell my soul for the price of what now seems like a ridiculously paltry pay packet???” tchah I should have made a better bargain…”