Burger & Beer
It’s Wednesday afternoon. Quickly it becomes evening.
I’m frustrated. I’m irritable. It has been a very busy day or it has been a very boring day, regardless it’s over and now I just need… Something. Meaning?
I walk into my apartment and kiss my wife. She knows something is wrong. She knows exactly what’s wrong. She knows that I am like clockwork and that by Wednesday night I’m spiraling with anxiety about either being over-employed or under-employed and that life has no meaning, we were born into a terrible existence of having to work most of our life and when we do finally get a break from work we are riddled with anxiety about spending money or what we should do with ourselves or if we are taking care of all the things we are supposed to take care of but can’t remember everything even though we have all these tools that help us take care of it and —
“Do you want to go get a burger and a beer?” she asks me.
Just like that it makes sense.
A burger and a beer.
