And I am a working person in America—where my capital is my time, I am paid in exchange for it, I sell it—then I believe that Bank of America, by making me wait on hold for 45 minutes without pay, is essentially committing against me violent theft.
I figured, what would I do if I were on my deathbed? The answer that came to me, genuinely, was that I'd start a blog. Something for everyone to read in my last few bedridden weeks. Lately I can't stop thinking about death. Nonstop. How every moment brings me closer to it yet every moment is exchanged for some purpose other than appreciating life. How it might be scary, how it might be sweet. Hell, I can barely enjoy my hourly chain-smoking break.