The last three days, I've been outside in my yard, pulling weeds.
There are hundreds of weeds, all covered in spikes. The spikes are pronounced enough that they poke through the rubber gardening gloves. It's been in the high 80s as well, and I've been doing this in direct sunlight.
So covered in sweat, I pull out these stupid weeds, each of which hurts me, and I know that there will always, always be more weeds to pull.
Each day, I have to stop when I find myself depressed at the metaphor.