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Ever notice how some of the really big concepts have short words assigned to them; life, death, love, sex, cash, fun, God, tax. And so there’s work. This is my work photograph.
Well, it was just a lamp at a party, in Chestertown Md. I happened to look over at the table to my right in one of the lulls in the conversation. A thoroughly incorrect lamp.
A guy with his hands full, and his view obscured. Essentially, I suggest that as a
definition of work.I could go on; Kabuki theatre with masks tightened around faces. But, I should cool out, there have been good times and good people encountered there.
So many generations of workers have gone by. There has to be, by now, a thoroughly genetic component. We were born to work.
There were people I knew from my school years that did not have to work when they graduated. They all ended up working anyway. A few took a good idea and that grew into an opportunity for a parcel of other people who did need to work. One of them grew so concerned about his responsibilities to his employees that he got thoroughly stressed (and an ulcer). An interesting case.
A piece of work. We all end up a piece of work, for better or for worse.