I'm so tired of being poor.
When you go to school to be a musician, it seems rebellious and romantic. You firmly believe that you will never bow to the material whims of the capitalist world, that you will live on bread and water, sustained by your art. And your also-idealistic-friends buoy you up in the student lounge with converstaions of the artistic merit of post-modern jazz theory.
Then you graduate.
And you are forced to coddle, wheedle, and connive the children of Lexus-driving, silicone-and-collagen-ridden, nanny-hounding bottle-blonde trophy wives, who see you as nothing more than a glorified baby-sitter who can enhance their childrens' "natural talents" (or more likely total lack thereof) with a nice resume item like "plays the clarinet". Not to mention it keeps the little rugrats out of their parents' hair, because they can't stand to have to deal with their own progeny for more than the fifteen minutes it takes to drive them anywhere.
All because you really need those checks for the rent, and somewhere along the way, you have become the the bitch of the Almighty Dollar.
Oy, I need a beer. If I could afford one.
