Not much has been happening to my body lately so here's the story of my heart instead

Work is stupid. I want a small home, and I want to put golden antlers with ribbons and bones and photos hanging from them above the mantle, and I want to fill the house with streamers and Christmas lights, and I want to make paper pyramid floor lamps covered in hieroglyphics and secret messages. And I want to eat dinner on the floor and listen to music as loud as I want and run around the house in feathers and war paint, dancing and singing along. And then I want to smash the lamps and take down the streamers and rebuild the décor from scratch, maybe make molds of internal organs and turn them into mobiles and hang them everywhere amidst the Christmas lights.

Then I remember that if no one worked then photo equipment certainly wouldn’t exist, and trees wouldn’t get cut down to make paper for the streamers, or the newsprint that I would use for papier mache for the antlers, or to make timber to build my house with. If no one worked I wouldn’t have a kitchen and I couldn’t bake all the love and sadness I cant speak into layer cakes and cream puffs. I have built my dreams on the work of those before me and it seems wrong not to participate, to contribute.

So if no one worked then I guess we would still be cavemen. I guess I would have to find berries and stuff to eat when I was hungry, and they would probably not be very tasty, and I might be cold and wet sometimes, and I might eventually starve to death. I might have to hide from dinosaurs, and run from sabre tooth tigers, and wild boars (who are particularly vicious). But then i could wear fur and eat meat and always have bonfires and run yelling into the woods when i needed to. And really, I think all i want is someone to make cave paintings with anyway.