optimist in pessimist's clothing

I have a lot of difficulty living. I'll admit that freely to any person who has any interest whatsoever in knowing anything about me. And also, apparently, to random internet passersby. I find it hard to persevere through an entire day. There have only been a few isolated periods of time in my life during which this hasn't been the case. I like laughing, and I like eating, and I like drinking, and I like being purposely lazy. There are a lot of other things in life that I like doing as well, and no matter how far-flung they might be from my previously listed likes, they share the common characteristic of being things that society dictates you can only indulge in when you've done your share of soul-sucking, identity-effacing, will-to-life-straining work for the day. Who the hell came up with this system? How did we get to the point where you can only earn happiness by fulfilling a dictated number of unhappiness hours? That is insanity. I don't want to do meaningless work that decreases my belief in the existence of joy. I don't want to live in a world where my fleeting freedoms cannot even be enjoyed because they are always overshadowed by the resentment of captivities to come. I don't want to feel guilty for for thinking, however briefly, 'I'm happy right now.' 

We are created to experience joy and to delve into those things that remind us of our infinitely complex, indestructible identities. We are created for creativity and for understanding. We are created with the capacity for overwhelming, mystified wonder. I physically ache with the thought that some people do not realize these things. For what is the purpose of living if not to experience as much as you can, as deeply as you can? I fear that our world is being run by people who have lost the ability to love life. But then that begs the question, how do those people get out of bed in the morning if I can barely manage it? Worrisome thought indeed.