Pokebags! They’re Pokeball inspired bags.
My wrists are healing very slowly. It doesn’t help that I work all of the time, every minute of every day that I can possibly be working, I am working. I work while homeschooling my kid. I work first thing in the morning when I get up and stay up late working deep into the night. I take it with me to roleplaying games, to part-time jobs, to political rallies, to social events. I take it with me even if I know I won’t have time to work, because who knows?
I come from a long line of people who try, with varying degrees of success, to work themselves to death. I know it’s not healthy. I know that it doesn’t make me a better person. I know that the narrative of working until you collapse being a good or right thing that people should do is a false narrative sold to us by rich people who get richer off of our tireless labor. Yet I can’t shake it.
If I work harder, just a little harder, if I can push myself to make just a few more things, then maybe I can get my outrageously huge child new shoes. Maybe I can afford fresh vegetables. Maybe I can afford that new math book for my hilariously advanced son, who goes through math books with devastating ease. Maybe I can afford to go to the doctor for my frighteningly deformed wrist rather than just waiting until that tendon unkinks by itself, causing several days of shuddering discomfort.
I know that these are just symptoms of a culture that rewards rich people and punishes everyone else. But it’s hard to shake a mindset when it’s been drilled into you since birth.
I’m going to go make just one more thing now.
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