first, your hairline irrevocably gets higher and higher, then the greys populate first your temple and then invade everywhere else, and, as if these are not dismal enough, you need to get to a barber often now for managing a soon-to-be, fulminating comb-over is a full-time endeavor, and then, add to that, the indignity of being dissed by this loud dominican guy and his fellow haircutters in their pidgin that you can never fully grasp. after this harrowing weekly exercise, you have to go to a grocery, since this is the weekend and this is the only sane time you can re-stock on victuals for the rest of the harrowing week. then you realize that the very act of towing back merely two bags of grocery to your apartment is another major production requiring beforehand, a tall cup of unalloyed caffeine and afterwards, a fully refilled inhaler. a self-described 19th century american anarchist, wrote “life is just one damned thing after another.” unloading these grocery purchases is no laughing matter, either. the label of this ketchup that you just bought, of all things, taunts your already debased ego by asking quite facetiously, “how do you Happy?” Really?