Work-Life Balance

As unexpected, as unseemly even, as it might be for me to say, my friend,
There is work to be done, we should make a start.
Whatever horizon your sights are set upon,
There is work beyond that, to be done.
Perhaps today is the day.
The day when you and I will get on with it, 
Get on with the work, yes work, the work of living.
Have we not deliberated far more than necessary?
And anyhow, complexity cannot complexify itself to simplicity.
Yes, there is work to be done, important work, real work.
But the work is not the kind that splits.
Not the work of weekdays and regrets, carrots and sticks, dreams of rest.
No, this is the work of living itself, and it is everything and endless,
Bearing no relationship to any preceding endeavours.
You and I must hold hands, my friend, like children now
And step into this phrase of life sooner or later, without shadows,
Conscripting ourselves willingly, for as long our strength lasts,
As enraptured servants to the whimsical import of every instance.
Thunderous.
Colossal.
Work.

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