I take joy in a daily work routine. It feels instinctively good to sit down doing that thing that regularly sustains me, yet that very routine includes doing something that I hate, that in the end is destroying the world I am to subsist in, that is, writing commercially.
I take even more joy in reading, thinking and writing, playing music, meditating, exercising, relating with others outside of the market, none of which is paid, going towards my subsistence in a market society.
A constant contradiction. The jouissance exists in pockets outside of the means of subsistence. And generally speaking, sustaining the environment and one's social relations tends to lie outside the actual means of subsistence within a capitalist economy.
To actually persist with dignity and joy means to commit a little less to the actual capitalist field of subsistence, which sustains me in my current state, as well as those around me. I am slowly torn asunder.
Current state is the key though. There is a tensile regime of living that must be torn through, tearing myself in the process. To become something else.
