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A Hymn for the Blessed Amateurs

You are not built for life under the fluorescent light, or to be enthroned in an ergonomic chair not nearly as comfortable as it was expensive.  You are not built for the snarl of traffic, angry knots popping up in your shoulders as you endure the slow death of the rush hour freeway.  Not built for spreadsheets and reports, for deadlines and policies, expenditures and fiscal year ends.

You were not created for the grocery store checkout line, doleful toddler screaming from the cart, your paycheck beeping away with one swipe of the barcode after another.  Apples tumbling from their bag, being shoved back in, grayish bruises already appearing on their delicate skin.  Scrambling for the coupons, reminding them not to squish the bread, wondering if you’ll have time to thaw the chicken before dinner.

You were not born to bend a thousand times, stooping to pick up dropped toys, socks, half eaten crackers, wadded napkins.  Not for sleepless nights, smoldering in the steam from the shower, h…

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