Sunday night is the worst part of the week. It combines the dread of the pending work week with the 48 hours I have spent marinating in the never-ending loop in my head: the loneliness, the frustration - work and personal life - and all the rest. Last night, I skipped the Oscars and toggled between Kasie DC and the rom-com 27 Dresses waiting for the season finale of True Detective. If Marx were alive, he would realize TV has replaced religion as the opiate of the masses.
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