When your only job is hunting for one

I started my day when the digits on my digital clock struck ten in the morning. I'd had seven hours of sleep the earlier night; barely so though. I'd made a to-do list after great lengths of imploration my parents went through, to get me to make one. Excessive technology does cripple a man, as did the virtual, yet surreal technology of video streaming on the bastard son of the original social media. The bastard son, DueTyoob, had definitely and definitively crippled my control over my body's urgent need to sleep and take rest and had in its stead, infested my mind with all insensible crazy questions about how American people feel about Indian food, and how tennis court drama earns more claps than a great ae whizzing past the opponent. I'd been perplexed by what I'd seen, wanting to watch more and more, just as I am right now, gripped by the urge to write this article, even when it is eleven minutes past two in the first few hours after daybreak. The rest of my day h