What do the Kardashians have in common with Downton Abbey?

Disclaimer I have watched maybe 1 total episode of the Kardashians reality TV show. Downton Abbey on the other hand I have watched every episode some even twice.

The dialogue on Downton Abbey is razor sharp, Julian Fellowes packs a lot into a one hour episode. So much has happened on Downton that it is difficult to pick out a favorite episode, character, line etc. At the end of season 2 *spoiler alert* (do not keep reading if you have not watched the show and want to watch) Sybil is upset not because the war is over, because she will have to go back to her monotonous days. The war gave, Sybil and Edith something to do, Mary as always was busy being Mary.

Sybil and Edith found, purpose, passion and an outlet for days that before war were an endless stream of: finding a suitable marriage match. It is not hard to imagine why Edith and Sybil would have enjoyed the work that  came with the war.

Sybil and Edith are portrayed as bright, intelligent, and educated as was dictated at the time. Both Edith and Sybil realize that there is more to life than a new a dress, or hat. They want to use their minds and find meaning in life. Cora as any good mother wants what is best for her daughters and given the era that meant finding a wealthy husband.

Cora and Kris Jenner have a lot in common, they have daughters with limited talent, appeal, skills but they want their daughters to be financially comfortable and well connected.

This all leads me to question how critical I have been of Kris Jenner, history is full of mom's look to make suitable matches for their daughters. Please do not mistake this as a sign that I am endorsing Kris Jenner's parenting methods. I am only pointing out that she is very shrewd and willing to above and beyond for daughters financial well being.

And the cynic in me says that as usual there is nothing new under the sun that its just history repeating itself h/t http://edwardianpromenade.com/women/the-american-heiress/

Monsters are real

Filled with growing dread I walked down the long hall way slowly. Each time I passed by a set of office doors I cringed. Fractured splinters of conversations sliced through the air "finish it."

The sun was casting long shadows on the creating more gloom. I had taken a bathroom break but I would have to go back inside. I pulled up all my shields.

"Time is running out" the voice slithered across the room heads bobbed up and down in agreement.

A tentative hand went up as I slid into my chair I perched ready to flee at the first sight of blood. "According to the calendar you gave us we still have another month."

Cold dead eyes locked on the he who dared speak. "Do you know who I am?" The voice was cold and vicious, he was brave he was wearing his medal that would protect him from harm.

He picked up a copy of a piece of paper from where I sat I could tell it was a print out of an old email.

The air changed, it had been cloying and heavy since the meeting began but now it was completely leadened.

"It is dated." He didn't finish his statement, he never would, he was about to become a walking dead and he sensed that his death was near. He watched her the way an animal watches a venomous snake before it strikes. He had had been brave, logical, polite, he cared those were all errors and she would squeeze all those thoughts from him.

I knew what was coming, the beast needed to be fed and its victim had served itself up. She would feed off on his feelings. The paper in his hand wavered, he lowered it to the desk, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He sensed danger and he knew it was to late.

"I created the calendar with the deadlines, therefore I am the calendar." He flinched, he mumbled, he shuffled more papers in front of him. "Do you understand?" she asked her voice dripping with malice, he jerked and nodded dumbly.

Around him glazed eyes stared ahead, past victims, they no longer had any of the energy needed to appease the monster. Hope, compassion, kindness they had been drained.

The meeting was over, I had escaped yet again, but I knew that time was running out. I was hiding in plain sight and the beast needed a supply of fresh victims.

The 40 hour work week prison sentence

I sat at my desk, looking over the paperwork that would create my magnum opus my monthly report. And like any great American novel this report would contain the appropriate amount of fiction so that consumers would buy it. I stared out the window, I didn't need a weather report to tell me that it was low 80's with a soft, sweet wind and a sun that that would viciously disappear the second I set one foot out the door.

I looked at the mountain of paperwork and frowned, holy Christ it had doubled in volume in the brief seconds I had looked out the window. I closed my eyes.

My heart started to pick up speed, it was coming, like the distant buzz that would become the deafening rumble of a train as it made its way into the station. My heartbeat normal minutes before started to gradually increase in pace. 

Not now, I pleaded with myself, the begging only made the pain worse. The sweat started to form on my back and forehead, I wore layers in the overly air-conditioned room, soon I would be peeling the clothing off. 
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As if on cue to signal the arrival of a full blown panic attack my breathing became irregular.  Like a gazelle in the jungle sensing a lion my uncontrolled brain took over. 

Sweat started to run down my face and back., my heart jack-hammered so hard in my chest that my body shook.  

I was trapped, I had maneuvered myself into my own trap. The stack of papers on my desk doubled in size. I closed my eyes and tried to regain some control.

"You know what you have to do, you have to cut it off" the voice whispered in my head. The back of my chair was now drenched with the sweat with its own personal aroma of fear, despair and desperation. "Cut it off do it now" I shook my head terrified.

If I cut it off, how would I explain to my friends and family. If I cut it off the world would be a witness to my shame. 

"If you cut it off it will feel good" the voice spoke louder in my head. 

My hand was shaking so hard that my first two attempts were utter failure, I pressed the button and the laptop turned off. 

My heart increased until I was sure it would slam out of my chest. "Now take a deep breath" the voice spoke again, I hiccuped as I inhaled clean fresh air. 

I lost track of how long I sat in the chair, when my breathing was normal I straightened my spine in an act of defiance. I looked at the laptop loathing it with my entire being. 

"Now get up and walk out" the voice said the excitement was palpable, I sat frozen. It was one thing to cut the machine off, but to get up and walk out that way anarchy. If I walked out I could not come back from that. 

"Get up and walk out". I cant I whined what will people think. "Get up and walk out. 

The maniac that was renting space in my brain did not even try to pretend it heard my logical explanations as to why walking out in the middle of the work day was a no-no.

I turned my head but before I could look out the window, my eyes fell on the calendar where I faithfully ticked off each day as it came to a close.

I marked the passage of time on that calendar, in that moment the sun flooded the office warming me despite the arctic air conditioning. 

My hand inched closer until I grabbed my phone, I threw it into my purse.

I walked out, everyone says I should have given two weeks notice. But the voice in my head responds: "we gave notice and quit the second we started to count each lost day."

I overhead someone saying this was the coldest winter in recorded history, and yet the sun continues to warm me each day when I wake.