The sound of dead people’s cell phones. The smell of dead people’s money. I can grasp the explosions of buildings on clear late summer mornings between my fingertips. The taste of dead people’s ashes.
Labor. There is so much yet so little to say about labor. We labor so that we may earn. And some of us labor because it is something we enjoy. However you look at it though, without labor, this world is nothing. We must labor to build things, we must labor to cook and even raising a family can be a labor some times.
is it me, or does like 85% of the general population seem like complete assholes. i’d love to give them all a major attitude adjustment, but it all just seems to labor intensive to me.
my jaw aches when I chew recently, perhaps because I have been neglecting to wear my retainer and headgear. Regardless, each act of swallowing seems an enormous labor
birth? work? i work at panera and it’s a lot mor ephysical labor than people think… cajn’t say i’ve been through labr… no babies for me! not right now anyway. ican’t afford it anyway so i hsouldn’t have one. labor rhymes w/ neighbor
labor is working! is labor? don’t work you will only be supporting selfishness and greeeeed. sooo evil. sometimes it’s good to work though, without putting something in you won’t get anything out. happy happy, in moderation I say. thank you for your time! haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa….. the end.
Writing a card to acknowledge your grief, a labor I almost cannot complete. To finish it, to place stamp on envelope, to place card in the mail seems to send that departing spirit ever and ever… further away. The card will reach your hands, but never, ever will we touch your friend, again.
Carla lay on the bathroom floor clutching the toilet bowl waiting for it to come again, morning sickness.. she felt each column of bile and acid travel up her throat and errupt from her mouth like a volcano spewing lava. She herd her mum shout from the hallway, “If you think this is bad, just wait til labor!” Carla rolled her eyes and clutched her stomach, “nothing can be worse than this” she mummbled through mouthfuls of vomit.
To say the word only makes me think of actual labour as in giving birth. Not all good memories unfortunately. Thank goodness no bad memories of screaming like a banshee and swearing at the nurses. But well worth the trouble three times over!
The sword felt heavy in James’ hands. His master had kept him working for seven hours straight. His muscles felt like jello. Deep burning jello. With all his strength, he struck forward at his master, the wise old man beating the sword away with impossible ease.
Nothing beats the feeling of coming back to a small, hot, room with twenty bunkbeds after a long day’s unpaid work.
I’m serious. Volunteering to build houses in Mississippi = best week of my summer last year.
Hard labor: good for the heart, good for the soul, and good for the world.
working…
for what?
we commit ourselves to this life of labor.
but what do we get in return?
a sense of pride?
a sense of accomplishment?
no.
we give into the boss.
and why?
because we are the worker bees,
the slaves to humanity.
She felt herself buckle under the force of the task she was obligated to do. Feeling her muscles clench beneath her under the hard labor of her work, she let out a fierce cry and dug her heels into the ground. Ah well, she though as it tipped over, it was a start.
Hammer. Nails. Bottle of vodka. I’d say I’m ready to get this project started. Booze and manual labor don’t mix, you say? Nonsense! I haven’t hurt anyone yet. Seriously, anyway.
My dad is very good at labor. He works hard and he’s strong, so when a job calls for heavy labor, or heavy lifting, my dad’s the one to call. He will work all day long and not give up. He’s great at hard labor.
labor is bad for the people, but is important to the economy, especially in the factors of production, which are land, labor and capital. capital is a money thing which is nice because money is quite fun .
labor is the the amount of effort or work that someone puts into either a piece of art or a piece of work, or a structure. Labor is important to the integrity of a
My birthday always falls near labor day, which is convenient because I usually get a day off to celebrate. I choose to celebrate my birthday instead of labor day because I have no clue what the holiday is supposed to be about.
He tried dot forget his past of burgoisity and be grateful for what he had, but the level he had sunk to was far below what he should be at. Working with the pigs!
child pains, birth, miracles, boyfriend, husdand, baby, pregnant, work, pain, love, undesribable, happy, worth it, the feeling of holding your child for the first time.
Labor is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Think an operation without anaesthetic and you’ll be getting close. However, the end result is ALWAYS, ALWAYS worth it!
If I worked harder, I’d be a better person, something about making something, making progress, moving forward. Why does life have to be hard? Why do people feel like the only way to be happy is to be weighed down by tasks and objects, hard work and hard money, more stuff to complicate the softness of existence. My idea of what I’d rather, is to play all the time, be a kid again, run around and shout and laugh.
I never want to go into labor. I want kids, I even want kids that are genetically mine, but labor is completely out of the question. I’m not going to hurt that much, I’m not going to push a human out of me. It’s insanity
the labor pains were unbearable. i wasnt ready to have a kid; i was still a kid myself. but my parents wanted me to have it and see what i wanted to do after she was born. would i fall in love, or realize a different home would be better for her life.
i hate working so much, i wish I didn’t have to have one. I want my husband to make enough money so I can stay home and make babies and be a house wife. I don’t want to go to school, I don’t want to find a career. I just want to be at home.
i hate working so much, i wish I didn’t have to have one. I want my husband to make enough money so I can stay home and make babies and be a house wife. I don’t want to go to school, I don’t want to find a career. I just want to be at home.
Labor has never been an especially appealing aspect in my life. Case in point, I choose to distract myself with these probably meaningless exercises to avoid working hard on an actual writing project with substance. Or practicing piano. I love the piano, but I don’t like practicing. I suppose that’s nothing unique. And that’s a shame. I realize I can’t wait for some crazy event to shake me loose from my apathy and inspire me to finally get things done. I have to start doing it and make it a habit. That’s all. And I hope to. But right now, I’m just writing as much as possible in these 60 seconds. And I’m surprised at how long of a time period it is. It can’t be long now. Is this a trick? Was I told I’d just have 60 seconds so I’d write as much as possible, finally forcing something from my hand, when in fact I have all the time in the world?
Labor. I don’t want to belabor my point. Which I don’t have. Now I’m really just writing for writing’s sake. So let’s do some labor. Whenever I actually force myself to do it, it’s not bad. I’m talking about labor in the physical sense. Working hard, doing homework, cleaning up, those things are fine, even cathardic. But any kind of creative labor really puts my under. The mind is the hardest thing to exercise.
Ok, I must have written way longer than 60 seconds by now, so I’m done.
oh well I wish I could talk about this, but I’m acutually so into it at the moment, it’s taking over me, engulfing me like a needle in a haystack. What a terrible comparaison, but I am literally a labour horse for work, I mean for books, for philosophy and history, I’m wading though it, I don’t know where the end is, deliver me from it
blue collar
Labor. Usually of the manual kind. Defined by the color of your collar.
The sound of dead people’s cell phones. The smell of dead people’s money. I can grasp the explosions of buildings on clear late summer mornings between my fingertips. The taste of dead people’s ashes.
Labor. There is so much yet so little to say about labor. We labor so that we may earn. And some of us labor because it is something we enjoy. However you look at it though, without labor, this world is nothing. We must labor to build things, we must labor to cook and even raising a family can be a labor some times.
Work. Toil. Bread and butter. Whatever you want it to be. Pregnancy. Women. I dunno. Does anyone copy and paste here? Labor Unions.
is it me, or does like 85% of the general population seem like complete assholes. i’d love to give them all a major attitude adjustment, but it all just seems to labor intensive to me.
my jaw aches when I chew recently, perhaps because I have been neglecting to wear my retainer and headgear. Regardless, each act of swallowing seems an enormous labor
birth? work? i work at panera and it’s a lot mor ephysical labor than people think… cajn’t say i’ve been through labr… no babies for me! not right now anyway. ican’t afford it anyway so i hsouldn’t have one. labor rhymes w/ neighbor
labor is working! is labor? don’t work you will only be supporting selfishness and greeeeed. sooo evil. sometimes it’s good to work though, without putting something in you won’t get anything out. happy happy, in moderation I say. thank you for your time! haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa….. the end.
Writing a card to acknowledge your grief, a labor I almost cannot complete. To finish it, to place stamp on envelope, to place card in the mail seems to send that departing spirit ever and ever… further away. The card will reach your hands, but never, ever will we touch your friend, again.
to colors, one idea
Carla lay on the bathroom floor clutching the toilet bowl waiting for it to come again, morning sickness.. she felt each column of bile and acid travel up her throat and errupt from her mouth like a volcano spewing lava. She herd her mum shout from the hallway, “If you think this is bad, just wait til labor!” Carla rolled her eyes and clutched her stomach, “nothing can be worse than this” she mummbled through mouthfuls of vomit.
To say the word only makes me think of actual labour as in giving birth. Not all good memories unfortunately. Thank goodness no bad memories of screaming like a banshee and swearing at the nurses. But well worth the trouble three times over!
The sword felt heavy in James’ hands. His master had kept him working for seven hours straight. His muscles felt like jello. Deep burning jello. With all his strength, he struck forward at his master, the wise old man beating the sword away with impossible ease.
Nothing beats the feeling of coming back to a small, hot, room with twenty bunkbeds after a long day’s unpaid work.
I’m serious. Volunteering to build houses in Mississippi = best week of my summer last year.
Hard labor: good for the heart, good for the soul, and good for the world.
Human. Non-human. Pregnancy. Work. Time. Money. Always working, always thinking, always doing, always being. Why? Why? Why?
It is a labor of love to have five cats.
Pregnancy. Work. Human. Non-human. Labor at all hours of the day, all the time, always working, always thinking, always doing. why? why? why?
working…
for what?
we commit ourselves to this life of labor.
but what do we get in return?
a sense of pride?
a sense of accomplishment?
no.
we give into the boss.
and why?
because we are the worker bees,
the slaves to humanity.
they knew they were in trouble when she felt the child entering the world and that he would be doomed to a life of hard labor
She felt herself buckle under the force of the task she was obligated to do. Feeling her muscles clench beneath her under the hard labor of her work, she let out a fierce cry and dug her heels into the ground. Ah well, she though as it tipped over, it was a start.
Hammer. Nails. Bottle of vodka. I’d say I’m ready to get this project started. Booze and manual labor don’t mix, you say? Nonsense! I haven’t hurt anyone yet. Seriously, anyway.
Labor? What kind of a word is that to be asked to write about… ok let
My dad is very good at labor. He works hard and he’s strong, so when a job calls for heavy labor, or heavy lifting, my dad’s the one to call. He will work all day long and not give up. He’s great at hard labor.
labor is bad for the people, but is important to the economy, especially in the factors of production, which are land, labor and capital. capital is a money thing which is nice because money is quite fun .
labor means working. There is a holiday called labor day, ironically, it is a day of rest. It is to remember the black laborers
labor it gave me the same word as 12 times ago… i dont know why this website does this to me. i think it haes me :'(
labor is the the amount of effort or work that someone puts into either a piece of art or a piece of work, or a structure. Labor is important to the integrity of a
My birthday always falls near labor day, which is convenient because I usually get a day off to celebrate. I choose to celebrate my birthday instead of labor day because I have no clue what the holiday is supposed to be about.
He tried dot forget his past of burgoisity and be grateful for what he had, but the level he had sunk to was far below what he should be at. Working with the pigs!
child pains, birth, miracles, boyfriend, husdand, baby, pregnant, work, pain, love, undesribable, happy, worth it, the feeling of holding your child for the first time.
Labor is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Think an operation without anaesthetic and you’ll be getting close. However, the end result is ALWAYS, ALWAYS worth it!
If I worked harder, I’d be a better person, something about making something, making progress, moving forward. Why does life have to be hard? Why do people feel like the only way to be happy is to be weighed down by tasks and objects, hard work and hard money, more stuff to complicate the softness of existence. My idea of what I’d rather, is to play all the time, be a kid again, run around and shout and laugh.
I never want to go into labor. I want kids, I even want kids that are genetically mine, but labor is completely out of the question. I’m not going to hurt that much, I’m not going to push a human out of me. It’s insanity
the labor pains were unbearable. i wasnt ready to have a kid; i was still a kid myself. but my parents wanted me to have it and see what i wanted to do after she was born. would i fall in love, or realize a different home would be better for her life.
i hate working so much, i wish I didn’t have to have one. I want my husband to make enough money so I can stay home and make babies and be a house wife. I don’t want to go to school, I don’t want to find a career. I just want to be at home.
i hate working so much, i wish I didn’t have to have one. I want my husband to make enough money so I can stay home and make babies and be a house wife. I don’t want to go to school, I don’t want to find a career. I just want to be at home.
painful
new life
child
family
help
hosppital
doctor
patient
life
hope
Labor has never been an especially appealing aspect in my life. Case in point, I choose to distract myself with these probably meaningless exercises to avoid working hard on an actual writing project with substance. Or practicing piano. I love the piano, but I don’t like practicing. I suppose that’s nothing unique. And that’s a shame. I realize I can’t wait for some crazy event to shake me loose from my apathy and inspire me to finally get things done. I have to start doing it and make it a habit. That’s all. And I hope to. But right now, I’m just writing as much as possible in these 60 seconds. And I’m surprised at how long of a time period it is. It can’t be long now. Is this a trick? Was I told I’d just have 60 seconds so I’d write as much as possible, finally forcing something from my hand, when in fact I have all the time in the world?
Labor. I don’t want to belabor my point. Which I don’t have. Now I’m really just writing for writing’s sake. So let’s do some labor. Whenever I actually force myself to do it, it’s not bad. I’m talking about labor in the physical sense. Working hard, doing homework, cleaning up, those things are fine, even cathardic. But any kind of creative labor really puts my under. The mind is the hardest thing to exercise.
Ok, I must have written way longer than 60 seconds by now, so I’m done.
oh well I wish I could talk about this, but I’m acutually so into it at the moment, it’s taking over me, engulfing me like a needle in a haystack. What a terrible comparaison, but I am literally a labour horse for work, I mean for books, for philosophy and history, I’m wading though it, I don’t know where the end is, deliver me from it