I think there’s something deeply wrong with the way I resent having a job. I know it’s fine morally to not want to be coerced to work for survival, but most people have the ability to suck it up. But I am haunted by the reality of my one life on this planet being owned by others.
We are all made of the same fabric as the stars and if they’re romantic and whimsical we should also be romantic and whimsical. Because the universe said so.