Labor's Antipathetic Enemy

I don't want to work today. I just don't.

No essays, no jobs, no food assembling for customers, no driving to work,

I do not want to do any labor work today at all.

I am so tired of every single significant thing in my life being a work responsibility.

And it's not cleaning the house, cooking dinner for myself, or even washing the dishes in the sink that I'm against.

Everywhere I look it's another job, another labor position,

It's more money that I need to spend just to work in the first place.

None of this is normal. None of this is healthy.

None of this is aspirational or inspirational.

None of this is okay, nope, not at all.

Why does everyone keep asking me what my job is or what job I want?

Why is the question never "What do you like to do?" or "What do you look forward to in your day-to-day life?" instead of the usually questions about my job?

I can never look forward to a future where my purpose is capital labor.

Why would I dream of work over creation besides working for money?

Employers are always trying to make work seem fun and worthy and safe, yet they never pay us enough to work happily.

We don't get paid well at all, we get scraps and scraps and we're left to the wolves.

Why do so many people defend this way of living?

No one should have to prove their worthy of living well.

A good living situation shouldn't be something that I have to prove I am worthy of.

I know I deserve to live in health and peace, yet everyone else tells me otherwise.

And for what? Who the hell are we working for anyways?

I can work and work until my back aches and my feet burn and my body is drenched in sweat and my mind is numb like and overheated computer and I still wouldn't have enough money to live comfortably.

I wouldn't even have the time to live the good life I want because I would crash and burn long before reaching that point.

So ultimately, I do not want to work today, I want to create and craft instead.

What I want is to pursue passions and recreational activities that give me purpose in life.

I want to write so many fictional stories until my fingers ache because that is how many ideas I have growing in my brain.

So many years of building up imaginary worlds and tales in my psyche and yet I have so little to show for it.

And I can only blame the capitalistic society that forced me to go to school not for education or to mold me into achieving my pursuits, but to groom me into becoming an agent for infinite labor.

All my stories that I could've given to the world by now have been prevented by the hands of greed and taxes.

I keep wondering what if I made more stories instead of bags and bowls in a restaurant or store.

And that is because I would rather create my craft than work for thankless capitalistic entities.

And ultimately, this world's requirements for labor has me tired out for the rest of my life already.

I don't want to work today at all.

And I do not feel bad about admitting that.

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