As I drove to work yesterday through the leafy suburbs of Griffith and Narrabundah, it was a lovely site to see the trees changing colour to their autumn hue, mischeviously poking fun at an otherwise morose Canberra day and providing some much appreciated splendour to the eye.
Canberra, despite assurances to the contrary from others around the nation, most of whom have never been here, is a lovely city, particularly so at this time of year.
The turning trees offset the dull April skyline and provide a backdrop to the city that I’m sure many artists would find appealing to their palate.
It at least allows some positive vibes to radiate through the city as we began the painful descent into another notorious Canberra winter.
As I drove along the tree lined boulevard, taken in by the mini-majesty of the surrounds, my subconcious was pricked by a melancholy and the vagaries that clutter my mind gave way to negative thoughts.
I wondered why some drive themselves to succeed in an effort make more of their lives, sometimes successfully, sometimes not, yet others maintain the same situation, day by day, year in year out, unhappy in their work, complaining loudly to all those unfortunate enough to be in earshot, yet can never bring themselves to change, to move forward and hopefully find a more positive aspect to their working lives. I suppose I am in that secondary category. Thinking too much and acting too little probably isn’t healthy for the mind.
Finally arriving at work, the silliness that had been cluttering my head retreated and heavy thought processes were replaced by the instinctivness that comes with practice, namely, sorting mail.
It wasn’t a bad day. Busy, with Coles supermarkets investing in a huge mail out which will take all week to shift and make life for those rostered on the Bar Code Sorter distinctly unpleasant. Other than that, an average day, no fuss, no bother. Just the realisation that we would have to come back and do it all again the next day, like captive mice on their playthings, running fast and getting nowhere.
Alas, another day has dawned and the sun has risen again and the same ritual begins like the time honored feast days of ancient empires in days gone by.
The full fury of winter hasn’t hit us yet, just a less aggravated version, yet it is still cold and wet and an afternoon indoors, sorting mail won’t be so bad when other alternatives are considered.
So, I’ll put the trumpet back in the case for now and trundle along my way and get ready for the rest of the day. And I will try not to think too much.
Canberra, despite assurances to the contrary from others around the nation, most of whom have never been here, is a lovely city, particularly so at this time of year.
The turning trees offset the dull April skyline and provide a backdrop to the city that I’m sure many artists would find appealing to their palate.
It at least allows some positive vibes to radiate through the city as we began the painful descent into another notorious Canberra winter.
As I drove along the tree lined boulevard, taken in by the mini-majesty of the surrounds, my subconcious was pricked by a melancholy and the vagaries that clutter my mind gave way to negative thoughts.
I wondered why some drive themselves to succeed in an effort make more of their lives, sometimes successfully, sometimes not, yet others maintain the same situation, day by day, year in year out, unhappy in their work, complaining loudly to all those unfortunate enough to be in earshot, yet can never bring themselves to change, to move forward and hopefully find a more positive aspect to their working lives. I suppose I am in that secondary category. Thinking too much and acting too little probably isn’t healthy for the mind.
Finally arriving at work, the silliness that had been cluttering my head retreated and heavy thought processes were replaced by the instinctivness that comes with practice, namely, sorting mail.
It wasn’t a bad day. Busy, with Coles supermarkets investing in a huge mail out which will take all week to shift and make life for those rostered on the Bar Code Sorter distinctly unpleasant. Other than that, an average day, no fuss, no bother. Just the realisation that we would have to come back and do it all again the next day, like captive mice on their playthings, running fast and getting nowhere.
Alas, another day has dawned and the sun has risen again and the same ritual begins like the time honored feast days of ancient empires in days gone by.
The full fury of winter hasn’t hit us yet, just a less aggravated version, yet it is still cold and wet and an afternoon indoors, sorting mail won’t be so bad when other alternatives are considered.
So, I’ll put the trumpet back in the case for now and trundle along my way and get ready for the rest of the day. And I will try not to think too much.
Strange Notations From a Laborious Life 