I had a lovely day at work today. I was in a garden and spent most of my time with a shovel. I know, I know, that’s not real work… wait, what the hell am I saying?! Damn right gardening is real work!
Actually, the last time I checked agriculture was the foundation of civilization as we know it. History itself is the child of agriculture. It’s the food surplus that the rare agriculturalist produces that allows everything else to happen.
Oh, and as a side note, when my day ended I felt good. A whole hell of a lot better than I would have felt after a day in cubicle. I used my body and I actually was part of the process of producing something of real value, food!
What a strange world we live in. I used to push papers around a desk and write things that no one would ever read. I was paid $100 an hour to do it and helped make some other rich guys even richer. Everyone could tell I was working then. Perhaps it was the emptiness in my soul that gave it away.
Now, I grow some food and it’s not real work. I train my body to run and swim and it’s not work at all. I talk to other people and share my life experiences with them and I’m just playing around.
I feel like I’m taking crazy pills. What the hell is going on here?