"I'll tell thee everything I can; There's little to relate.
I saw an aged aged man,
A-sitting on a gate.
"Who are you, aged man?' I said.
"and how is it you live?"
And his answer trickled through my head
Like water through a sieve.
He said "I look for butterflies
That sleep among the wheat:
I make them into mutton-pies,
And sell them in the street.
I sell them unto men,' he said,
"Who sail on stormy seas;
And that's the way I get my bread --
A trifle, if you pleae."
- Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass
Now, maybe if my job description were the second verse above, I’d aspire to love my work.
Yummy pie-making? Check.
Ability to let thoughts trickle through the head like water through a sieve? O hell yes, check.
A trifle, if you please.