Son of a bitch. We may not be able to sell the house. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. The house! What a gigantic symbol of debt and enslavement. I am a corporate slave, shackled by monetary policy and the decency not to walk away from my loan. Well not really, I worry my good decisions will lean to the hounds of high finance tackling my while others walk away. Shit fuckers. I want to feel free from financial oppression. I want to believe that this is unfair and that these consequences are somehow aimed at me, and not the mere workings of a machine gone horribly wrong. I want to get out. How can there be some much to be unhappy about, and on the other side of a paper wall, much to be happy about as well. The future is beautiful, it is the long ugly now between this side of the shore and the other. How many hate their job? How many hate the state of the economic forces that bind us? The plight of the middle class is that we struggle to merely remain, and somehow this seems less valid than those who have given up, or those who are so wealthy, or so poor, as not to care or give a damn. These things I wonder, but sometimes the day is just too hard to remain sane, and I walk away.
