Insecurity Magnets

Somebody quite obviously slipped an insecurity magnet into my back pocket this morning, and I spent the entire day completely unaware of this fact, distracted as I was by my failed career and thinning hair and regret over time not spent with my children. So powerful was this device that it affected everyone around me, leading to a 12 mile traffic backup so jammed, I was forced to turn around and go home, where I realized my wife deserves better and my mother-in-law only wants to help and the neighbor's lawn looks so much more creative, despite my advanced college education, which I am forced to admit was earned at a public college. The dog peed on the stairs, not because she's bad, but because I did such a poor job of training her, and instead of wiping it up, I opened a beer, at 8 o'clock in the morning, nearly an hour after I had left for work, intending on being there a half hour early but somehow winding up 23 and a half hours late, and of course succumbing to an addiction that far better men than I have overcome with no more than a snap of their fingers, tied to the end of hands like look as though they belong to a man, grease-covered and rough. A simple snap. By the time the day was over, I was overcome with despair at the state of the economy, overcome with the helplessness of watching a great nation attack itself as though afflicted with autoimmunity, overcome with my thinning hair, again, and then ashamed of my vanity at a time like this. When I removed my clothes to shower, I suddenly felt a great release, and realized that the source of my disquietude must have been caused by my clothes. It was then that I found the magnet. I was careful not to hold it too long and threw it as far as I could from the balcony into the forest, though I used to be able to throw so much farther.