Solitary moments have unanticipatedly returned to my existence to live and bloom for a few waking hours until the tide comes in and Linda and the others who share the house with me will come flooding back through the doors and once more I will be a mere “able seaman” on this ship of life, sharing my days, full of fun and misfortune as it is, with those who know me best.
What am I doing on a Monday evening, typing away in my dining room rather than eating my dinner in suitable misery at the “Happiness Factory” which, by usual standards is exactly what I would be doing at this time given any normal circumstance? Well, I’m glad you asked!
I have for the last few days been ensconced in the great southern capital of Melbourne, and on my return today I had indeed intended to go to work as I had anticipated arriving in Canberra in plenty of time to collect my swag and toddle off to once more endure the cerebral rigour mortis which is commonly induced at my place of assignment.
I had failed to appreciate that Linda, acting in her professional capacity as unofficial “Tour Director”, had booked our flight home for late morning whereas I had foreseen the need to be a little earlier if I was to arrive at my regular station rested enough to deliver on the responsibilities which are expected of me in that space officered by a company of fools.
I didn’t mind the later flight, in fact it would have been my preference but after calculating my expected arrival time at Canberra airport against my roundabout trip back to Wanniassa which included dropping Linda at work in the city, I figured that the circuitous route which would apply to me on my journey through the busy Canberra day would have me arriving home without time to have any lunch and barely time to collect my things before having to depart on my regular calamitous journey through the working hours until this evening.
In a pinch I could have made it but it would have been tight and in a world where I was dedicated and delighted in my time at toil perhaps I would have entered the fray late and taken the deduction of pay which thus would have been caused like a blow on the chin but after some deliberation and aided and abetted by the headache lurking furtively in the rear echelon of my cranium, I decided the best course to take was simply to report that I would be absent for the day.
Do I feel guilty? A little. Should it worry me? Not at all. Why do we feel aggrieved at ourselves over such things which in the scheme of life are only small boils on the rump of humanity?
I had thought of taking my work gear to Melbourne with me and arriving on the scene with my kit under my arm, raring to go but the idea of lugging heavy work boots to Melbourne, the feeble excuse that it is, saw me consign such thoughts to the dustbin and take my chance that I would be feeling well and and on time and ready to go another round with those heads who frustrate me the most. It was not to be.
So I am at home for the evening and as Linda, tougher than me as she is but with a wholly more competent command structure to contend with, consigned herself to a little over half a day at the office, and Monique is doing her bit to make her way by being at work and Megan has retired to enjoy the company offered by the other side of her family, the surname of whom we do not mention, I find myself alone enjoying my time away from the cesspool in solitary motion.
So, taking my leave I will commit to my other job for the evening, providing food for those who have found the moral fortitude and courage to attend where they are required and leave my analysis of my trip to Melbourne to another time when I am free to blog without care for much else.
Take care and enjoy your night.
What am I doing on a Monday evening, typing away in my dining room rather than eating my dinner in suitable misery at the “Happiness Factory” which, by usual standards is exactly what I would be doing at this time given any normal circumstance? Well, I’m glad you asked!
I have for the last few days been ensconced in the great southern capital of Melbourne, and on my return today I had indeed intended to go to work as I had anticipated arriving in Canberra in plenty of time to collect my swag and toddle off to once more endure the cerebral rigour mortis which is commonly induced at my place of assignment.
I had failed to appreciate that Linda, acting in her professional capacity as unofficial “Tour Director”, had booked our flight home for late morning whereas I had foreseen the need to be a little earlier if I was to arrive at my regular station rested enough to deliver on the responsibilities which are expected of me in that space officered by a company of fools.
I didn’t mind the later flight, in fact it would have been my preference but after calculating my expected arrival time at Canberra airport against my roundabout trip back to Wanniassa which included dropping Linda at work in the city, I figured that the circuitous route which would apply to me on my journey through the busy Canberra day would have me arriving home without time to have any lunch and barely time to collect my things before having to depart on my regular calamitous journey through the working hours until this evening.
In a pinch I could have made it but it would have been tight and in a world where I was dedicated and delighted in my time at toil perhaps I would have entered the fray late and taken the deduction of pay which thus would have been caused like a blow on the chin but after some deliberation and aided and abetted by the headache lurking furtively in the rear echelon of my cranium, I decided the best course to take was simply to report that I would be absent for the day.
Do I feel guilty? A little. Should it worry me? Not at all. Why do we feel aggrieved at ourselves over such things which in the scheme of life are only small boils on the rump of humanity?
I had thought of taking my work gear to Melbourne with me and arriving on the scene with my kit under my arm, raring to go but the idea of lugging heavy work boots to Melbourne, the feeble excuse that it is, saw me consign such thoughts to the dustbin and take my chance that I would be feeling well and and on time and ready to go another round with those heads who frustrate me the most. It was not to be.
So I am at home for the evening and as Linda, tougher than me as she is but with a wholly more competent command structure to contend with, consigned herself to a little over half a day at the office, and Monique is doing her bit to make her way by being at work and Megan has retired to enjoy the company offered by the other side of her family, the surname of whom we do not mention, I find myself alone enjoying my time away from the cesspool in solitary motion.
So, taking my leave I will commit to my other job for the evening, providing food for those who have found the moral fortitude and courage to attend where they are required and leave my analysis of my trip to Melbourne to another time when I am free to blog without care for much else.
Take care and enjoy your night.
Strange Notations From a Laborious Life 