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Occupied By Thoughts

Lately now, I feel like Norma Rae, when she tells her husband,
who complains about her busy schedule, that he can have sex with her
while she does the dishes. Except I am not a labor organizer, I don’t
have a husband, and I really need to concentrate when I do the dishes.
I like a busy life, but I’m beginning to wonder if I’m not just
spinning my wheels. I hear a lot of people make jokes about the
“Occupy” movement, but I sure admire them. Sure it’d be great if they
articulated a list of realistic demands, but until they are able to do
so, they’re certainly bringing attention to the fact that not all
Americans can be pacified into just accepting a banking system that is
woefully unfair. Good for them. I’m working my ass off, and will
probably never do anything that important.
I vacuum a lot, which is not likely to bring about social change.
I get up everyday trying to give my kids what they need to become
productive adults, while making a living telling my little jokes, but
sometimes there’s something of substance that seems to be missing.
You go, you occupiers.

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