Labor is normally synonymous with doing our best to get through our eight hour workday as quickly as we can, as if it did not exist. They are considered dead hours, where life ceases to exist because we won’t let it in. And all because "that's the way it is", "production volume is what matter". We do what we are supposed to. We follow those rules that have been imposed upon us by "others", just because we do not dare to look at what may be on the other side. We roll with the punches and we don't leave room for the unexpected, because of our fair conservatism, and at the same time, lack of ingenuity.

We could go to work hoping for that white, sweet, unexpected snow that will dazzle us as soon as it appears with its beauty and magic. We could go to work hoping to fall in love, to enjoy ourselves, to get excited, to be loved, waiting to be disappointed, to be reproached, waiting for annoyances, waiting for life.

We could go to work under the snow.