This is pretty much a story of my life, except that the poet seems to have much more free time than I do :(
The image above is found on google.com
On A Seven-Day Diary By Alan Dugan
Oh I got up and went to work and worked and came back home and ate and talked and went to sleep. Then I got up and went to work and worked and came back home from work and ate and slept. Then I got up and went to work and worked and came back home and ate and watched a show and slept. Then I got up and went to work and worked and came back home and ate steak and went to sleep. Then I got up and went to work and worked and came back home and ate and fucked and went to sleep. Then it was Saturday, Saturday, Saturday! Love must be the reason for the week! We went shopping! I saw clouds! The children explained everything! I could talk about the main thing! What did I drink on Saturday night that lost the first, best half of Sunday? The last half wasn't worth this 'word.' Then I got up and went to work and worked and came back home from work and ate and went to sleep, refreshed but tired by the weekend.
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"I am not in this world to live up to other people's expectations, nor do I feel that the world must live up to mine."
