Worth Work?

It's work, this thing, these mutterings and murmerings. They are loaded with amunition, as deadly as a sawn-off shotgun in the hands of a maniac.

I never much cared for work; too difficult, too time consuming and scarcely worthwhile, no matter what the project or how high the aim, how laudable the goal.

And this work is so pointless. It is shuffling papers around a desk merely to look as if one is busy. It is a deviation from the real things that beg to be addressed.

And, whichever way I look at it, I cannot justify it.

It simply is not worth the work.