The futility of work tempts us to give up before we begin. Why should we wash our dishes, when there will always be more dirty dishes to clean? Why should we dust our homes because once we dust, the next day dust returns? Why do we go to work to write reports, when few people read them and are archived? Why do we treat patients? After we treat them for a sickness, they get sick later with something worse. What should we do when work seems like an exercise in futility?