Labor Memory (I Don't Wanna Work Anymore II)

I quit my job at the clinic at the beginning of this semester, which is funny, because I’ve spent the whole time since then thinking about labor.
I’m almost through my savings now, and although I am privileged enough to have supports that would keep me from drowning, I need a job again.
I don’t think I want to go back to healthcare, but it leaves me wondering about the skills I leave behind. My hands know how to inject vaccines, draw blood, feel a pulse. The same way they know how to cut an onion into thin slices, measure flour, count change. My hands know how to sculpt and paint and type. How much will they remember a year from now? Ten years?
Workplaces are biomes, often vicious ones, with predators and prey, unique weather patterns and social systems.
When you find a friend in a coworker, it is camaraderie, a bond so precious but often fleeting.
My hands grow rougher. I am learning all the time. When the structures fall, I think my hands will
remember the important things. I can strain the skill from the poison. I know you are skilled too. Maybe it can be worth something?