See, I'm up to my eyeballs with work , even moreso than usual and I've volunteered for extracurricular income through Mako . But then my mind keeps gravitating toward another concept. That things really aren't all that bad. My son's healthy and smart and perfect. I don't have to worry about dodging mortar fire or snipers when I walk out my front door in the morning to get the paper .
Said paper is the output of an ostensibly free and unemcumbered press.
I ask myself. What right, indeed. And none of this is helped, of course, by the fact that I just wasted more time not being productive by, instead of wallowing in my self-pity, taking the time to put it all down in ones and zeroes. I'm a pug.