When you reach your last day on earth and you look back at your life, does it seem strange that this is all there was? Working every day, feeling exhausted all weekend, going back to work every day, paying bills, doing all that god-forsaken math to balance your budget, with brief moments of spontaneous enjoyment like little rays of sunshine piercing through an otherwise stifling room? Well, at least you got to stack some boxes every day at work for 25, 30 years, and at least you got a change of scenery every time you changed jobs or got laid off. At least you got to enjoy generic coffee from generic company who employs people who get to put coffee grinds into a coffee tin for countless years and then die.
And if another person tells me to just work hard and you’ll succeed, I’ll have to ask them what I’m meant to succeed at, and why I should like the idea of any of it. Either that, or punch them in the face. Not sure which.
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