To be employed, or not to be employed, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer driving to work every morning
Or the slings and arrows of outrageous medical insurance,
Or to take arms against a sea of financial debts
And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep on company hours,
No more; and by a quick power nap to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand unanswered emails
That the daily grind is heir to: 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to look at memes—ay(*finger guns*), there's the kicker:
When we leave work and arrive at our humble abodes
Life still sucks, even though we fear the outcome of downsizing, which
Must give us pause—there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long work shifts.