After a particularly unbearable work week, I stormed home and told my spouse that we should quit our jobs, sell all of our possessions and move as far away from other people as we could afford. Her response was to take me shopping.
After a couple hours of leisurely research, we made our choice: a new vacuum cleaner! I spent the rest of the weekend eagerly sucking incredible quantities of dirt and pet hair out of our lives. But Monday returned as it always does, and with it, another week of petty dramatics, inefficiency and indifference. Not to mention the stuff my co-workers do that bothers me.
What kind of person counts the minutes at work so he can spend the weekend doing housework? Well, around my house, you never know what treasures you'll find once you start moving things around. I discovered these fabulous ruins under a particularly intractable clump of pet hair. The product of a previous attempt at organization, these crumbling artifacts were glued to old sheets of scratch paper and discarded in a corner. I know: if I don't want my collection to end up in the belly of my vacuum or clinging to the linings of my sinuses, I need to move the whole mess to a climate controlled underground bunker somewhere in Montana. Believe me: I'm working on it.
In the meantime, I offer consolation to the also-overworked among you. It could be worse: It could be 1944. People worked in conditions far worse than yours and mine. And the consumer distractions available back then were meager at best.