A lot of people like to stifle your opinions, the overriding thoughts constantly pervading your mind. Particularly when it comes to cajoling you into “forgetting” about how much you hate 1) working and 2) your job.
“It’s part of life,” they say. “You got a better alternative?” they demand. No, okay. Not just as of yet. Other than, of course, that cliche stock option, suicide. But I’m planning to beat the dead horse until he revives himself and tells me the answers.
Still, this insistence on essentially trying to unfree myself from Houdini-style wraparound body chains as I’m sinking to the bottom of the water is irksome to objective bystanders, either shrugging their nonchalance at my squirming over something as simple as having to be somewhere at a certain time or wanting to hold me down along with the chains for their own sadistic sport. No one with a job wants you to not have a job. It’s a mutual suffering thing. Just look at how co-workers treat you when you get back from vacation.
Nonetheless, my contempt is too strong–an opposite form of ardor, incidentally, as the horse in 1984. He got beat to death, but maybe he can give me some information if I keep prodding him.