Boomers love playing the work martyr. They’ve wrapped their entire sense of identity in working, their role at work, and some strange dogged determination that such a way of life has greater value than time spent with their family, children, friends, or pursuing any non-work interests.
And now huge swathes of them have nothing but their grinding mentality, as their family has splintered, their children have gone no-contact, and they have nothing of their Self to fall back on. It’s why they still perch on the upper rungs of our political and corporate ladders, punching down at anything they don’t understand.
The sensation of sharp graphite piercing the soft, yet resilient eraser flesh is soothing for children forced to be still for hours on end while being Industrial Factory inculcated into the systematic destruction of creative thought and whimsy.