The employee’s ideal is having work to do. Having it done, is mine.

The employee cherishes his work. He has a great skill at portioning it so as to always have a sufficient quantity left. He augments it with breaks and rituals and adds embellishments here and there. He loves to talk about it. He makes himself snug in it.

I, by contrast, strive for an ideal state of every bit of work being finished. I fight work. I wage lightning wars against work, fight epic battles against it with heavy losses on both sides, with heroic feats and great tragedies. And always keeping the one great unattainable goal in view: a world with no work left.

You can rely on the employee to build factories, companies, nay states and empires. He is patient and firm and without impeding pride. Left alone, he will head for the garden and the barbecue and may seem impotent and torpid. But form a legion of him and his peers, and they will be invincible and stand anything and outlive anyone.

I, however, am a one-man horde. Impetuous, daring, foolish. I rush here and I rush there, chasing with the wind. I set this place on fire and leave the other abloom.
Momentary monuments.
Then I rush on.