I started to write a mini-screed about the horrors of working and the perennial indignity of Mondays, but it's all useless. I like my job, most of the time.
The weekend came and went. It was already ending upon its inception.
I had little adventures with the boy and his mom. If it were not for the lack of romantic love between her and I then most people would look at us and see a family - we look like a family, we act like a family, we talk like a family, but we're all just waiting for better options to come along, or newer ones at any rate.
Well, I suppose we have one team member that's still not a free agent. He is contractually bound to stick with this team. He was a first round draft pick with an eighteen year contract, etc.
Perhaps that lack of romantic love makes us indistinguishable from most other families. We accomplished by splitting up what most families have to stay together to achieve: a mild escalation over time towards mutual acrimony, a pervasive sense of despair that somehow one's love isn't good enough or strong enough, a lingering disappointment that not only did you choose the wrong partner but that also so did your partner… … yet that you are somehow still functioning together as what might pass as a family. A dynasty for one.
Tough to say, so easy to mumble.
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