too drunk to make this cohesive
i hate how much work i put into my office job that's now worth nothing. thousands of problems solved in creative ways; all worth nothing. i walk out, i'm left with absolutely fuck-all. it doesn't matter that i was clever, it doesn't matter that i cut out hundreds of man-hours of work, it doesn't matter that i figured out how to write scripts that interfaced with our shitty systems to solve problems. nobody cares. none of it matters. i wasted ten years of my intellect. it went absolutely fucking nowhere.
every single job is like this. if you let your neurons turn on for even a second, you're being robbed of all the specialness the universe put into you. it'll all be drunk up by the company like a fucking sponge and then pissed away into nothingness the moment you leave. working hard is pointless. nobody will ever care that you did it unless you're an architect and what you make is so big that nobody can ignore it
speaking as someone who has also had "architect" and other titles that put me into close contact with the C-suite and who has been credited with saving companies and being the hardest worker they have ever seen
the execs do not give one single fuck about us workers no matter the title or output when it comes down to it
while shit definitely rolls downhill just about everywhere, they do not even care about each other, they will hang their buddies out to dry in an instant if it makes their metrics slightly happier for the quarter
the whole system is so unrelenting toxic that literally no one is happy, not even the smarmy CEOs and puppetmaster VCs
they live in different plane of existence with access to the world's best healthcare and get unimaginable leeway and have comforts we cannot really conceive of
but they have trapped themselves in a circle of hell, scamming each other and spreading fear and doubt to exploit each other and falling for it every fucking time
i feel like i would be less furious if i felt like somebody was happy at the end of the day, but the reality is that multi-millionares are terrified and isolated and miserable all the time even if they have a loving partner and live in a big house on the beach
and that is infuriating
my point in so saying is that the system we live under benefits no one and needs to be dismantled to benefit us all - the practice of inequality ensures only the perpetuation of misery no matter what "superiority" promises - this is why intersectionality is so important!
But the putting of labour-power into action – i.e., the work – is the active expression of the labourer's own life. And this life activity he sells to another person in order to secure the necessary means of life. His life-activity, therefore, is but a means of securing his own existence. He works that he may keep alive. He does not count the labour itself as a part of his life; it is rather a sacrifice of his life. It is a commodity that he has auctioned off to another. The product of his activity, therefore, is not the aim of his activity. What he produces for himself is not the silk that he weaves, not the gold that he draws up the mining shaft, not the palace that he builds. What he produces for himself is wages; and the silk, the gold, and the palace are resolved for him into a certain quantity of necessaries of life, perhaps into a cotton jacket, into copper coins, and into a basement dwelling. And the labourer who for 12 hours long, weaves, spins, bores, turns, builds, shovels, breaks stone, carries hods, and so on – is this 12 hours' weaving, spinning, boring, turning, building, shovelling, stone-breaking, regarded by him as a manifestation of life, as life? Quite the contrary. Life for him begins where this activity ceases, at the table, at the tavern, in bed. The 12 hours' work, on the other hand, has no meaning for him as weaving, spinning, boring, and so on, but only as earnings, which enable him to sit down at a table, to take his seat in the tavern, and to lie down in a bed. If the silk-worm's object in spinning were to prolong its existence as caterpillar, it would be a perfect example of a wage-worker.
it actually just triggered my own memories of the feelings betrayal, but it really is just hell all the way down!