I work so much, my legs are going to fall off. I'm going mind numb because I do coffee shop tasks at high speed. One may go to coffee houses to read or write, but working there spares no time for reading. So I complain to myself. A job brings little lasting happiness and yet no small measure of selfish satisfaction. The other "wives" and I who consider life a boring expanse of hours to be whiled away when we don't have a job, moan and groan under the weight of real schedules. Our prayers are gratified: here's you a great little job to add to the family income. Our prayers change: O God, deliver me from tedious labour that requires me to get up at 5AM--and remind me: why was this so necessary to my life's eternal purpose in pleasing You, again?
O Woman, how fickle your desires, how fleeting your pleasures!
2 comments:
Verily, Verily.
And lo, ELR and I were discussing this yesterday, as we counted 23 and 51 minutes, respectively, to the end of our days.
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