Back of the House

So I walked into work with this dirty black cloud of hate and impatience draped across my shoulders and I knew that if I continued to wear this cloak of hell my night would only drag and my misery would eventually produce a slow death in front of oblivious, slobbering, demanding gaggles of wealthy jackals. So I went outside and sprinted two complete laps around the adjacent building and proceeded to hunker down in the walk-in cooler and let my sweat cool against my skin like wispy ice drifts. It helped. Because as I sat I noticed the work of others. I realized how easy I have it compared to those who have twice as many jobs and instead of buying cool stuff they wire their pay to families they don’t even see. They never really whine like I whine. I whimper and begrudge when things are askew or if people irritate me. They, however, are stoic, magnificent creatures of labor and intensity. Let the jackals be jackals, I’ll watch the back of the house while striving to be a beast in the belly and my bitching will be under my breath, making way for levity and outlandish behavior fit for a professional fool.

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