Doomed to Repetition...

4 years ago this November, I quit my position as Sales slave boy for the great corporate juggernaut, abandoning the shackles for what I thought was the wide open and equitable frontier of a small arts business. My new bosses name was Jennifer. She was an actress. My wife already worked for her. She lured me with assurances that I would be well received and well compensated. 3 debilitating months later, I began petitioning to be re-fitted for my shackles, to have what remained of my wrecked soul again surrendered to the everavenous jaws of the publicly traded carnivore N******.
In less than 1 month, I will again tender my resignation [I still have the original one, to which I will make a couple of embellishments and re-use for economy and elegiacy], leap over the cyclone fence that surrounds my lonely cube and again cry freedom. Only this time, I will be going to embrace the spirit of exuberance and optimism at...a small arts business. My new bosses name is Jennifer. She is an actress. My wife already works for her. She has lured me with assurances that I will be well received and well compensated.
3 doing-my-best-to-ignore-the-frightening-similarities-to-the-disastrous-past
and-yet-still-remain-hopeful months from now, I will find myself facing a familiar situation. Don't ask me why, and this is beyond a stretch for me, but I actually feel like it is going to work. I'm sure you'll hear about it if it doesn't.

And a final note. My boss just informed me that he realized he had just traveled by air from Philadelphia to Atlanta with a loaded .32 automatic in his carry-on luggage. Whereas they made him pull out his diabetic contraption so that they could scour and probe, they seemed unconcerned about the firearm loaded with exploding rounds at the bottom of the bag.
Fly the friendly skies. Fly them packing. Just don't bring a 4 oz. bottle of Purell. Word is, those are the only things killing people these days...