work. don't do it

I am a scared. I am the composite net result of the Lion, the Tin Man and the Scarecrow, before the wizard intervened and "solved" their collective problems. But let's focus on the scaredy cat part of my make up for now... I thought my last job was the kind of work that was worthy of a chain gang. I now see that no matter how bad things are they can always get worse. Or better. Sometimes you have to tell yourself a lie to seek a higher truth. I can currently extract from my present form of employment a robust fully developed hatred for the world. There are people worse off than me, but who cares really. I'm not them. I got my own problems. These are the types of statements that endear me to so many readers. Alternatively, I could develop for the first time in the history of my awesome life a work ethic. Did you hear that? That was the collective gasp of the world wide slacker conglomerate choking on the mere thought of the most toxic four letter word ever uttered. Every time a slacker does something that contributes to the betterment of society, I punch a baby in the face. I'm sorry that's just the way it works. But what if? What if, for a moment I entertained argh oooaaahhhhh ieeiiiieeeeeee that this, as much as it sux could be good for me. I take great pride in my laziness. I polish it with the finest cleaning products and proudly display it in its own personal shrine. My friends are never impressed. Can't please everyone I suppose. Is this a defence mechanism? I fear taking action. I fear change. I fear everything. Maybe that's why I can't bring myself to proactively pursue worthwhile activities for prolonged efforts. Not knowing how it'll turn out is too much to bare, but I'm starting to learn that not knowing is part of what makes life great. I will chop wood. I will carry water. I will work (ouch). I am Loren hear me yelp.