The Daily Grind Crushes Yet Another

I hate working. And though this may sound like a familiar song, it may just be a different one (but from the same songwriter). I hate chipping away at something that's neverending. Like rolling a boulder all the way to some Godforsaken hilltop only to wake up the next day with the SAME THING going on again. I hate thinking about existence because, in my all-consuming human conceit, I'd still like to believe we're built for better stuff. I hate slaving away just so I could tell myself that a job's all there is to it. The all-mighty currency, that golden ticket to having a life a bit better than that of a pauper. As a beggar, you submit to the kindness (however arbitrary) of strangers. If not, there's always exploitation. With being a working stiff, you submit yourself to something even crueller than kindness-- the caprice of your "superiors". I'd like to believe that people would like to be better people in the end but the office place is a harsh teacher. I feel like a maggot working away at a carcass. Wait. A maggot has a better stand in the "grand" scheme of things. I feel "trivialized". Worse, I feel soiled. Perhaps it is foolish to subscribe to lofty notions but I feel as if I've been doing myself this great disservice staying, hanging on, this long. Perhaps a timely bath is in order. A purging. A cleansing...

Someday, I hope to get this nasty aftertaste off of my tongue.