Cable

Living has gone full circle once more.

Television now replaces the loud, obscene arguments that once poured out of upstairs kitchen windows.  It rounds out the tenement atmosphere as Ted and Alice's bed pounds, not against my bedroom walls, but within them.  It makes it possible for me to hear a hundred little Kathy Sue's caterwauling while her bff plays the piano.  Even Fido has been replicated, not by Lassie and Timmy, but by some dog who eats his food off the good china and doesn't shed on my couch.

Those things I once would have paid to get rid of now cost me a fortune every month.

Virtually everything the upwardly mobile person of the 1950's wanted to get away from is now considered entertainment.

Is this who I really am?