As a writer, most of what he does with his time is work, Noah Berlatsky writes in Salon, and that means working evenings, weekends, and holidays, utterly blurring the line between job and leisure: "As this essay shows, even work can get converted to work product. My life and my keyboard form a seamless whole, a ravenous ouroboros, with my laptop screen eternally swallowing my brain." He celebrates getting paid for his life, but worries about the wider implications.
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