I’m sick of work and am pining for my long service leave which will see me steal away to continental Europe for six weeks yet the intricacies of arranging accommodation and the nervousness of travelling and the hope that the mosaic of plans which I have put together over the internet connect up at the right times and places is exhausting me. I have a thousand different things running through my head; plans I still need to make, things I physically need to do. Aaaaggghhh! I would rather just go back to bed!
It’s amazing how quickly the weekends pass. I spend most of the waking hours at work during the week watching the clock take it’s monotonous circle hour after hour, thinking ahead and knowing the end will come eventually and that I just need to knuckle down and the time will seemingly fly more quickly. I have a cadre of friends who inhabit different shifts but are almost all present and correct by 6pm when the heavy work begins to drag us down and we have a laugh at each other and bitch about those we don’t like and discuss the shortcomings of those seeking promotion and the inadequacies of those who command without any intention of ever taking any responsibility ourselves. The life of the unambitious proletariat is full of gossip and intrigue. It’s what keeps us sane through the barren hours of labour.
Finally, after what seems like a the passing of the Dark Ages, the light of the weekend begins to beckon, drawing us to it like a moth to a flame until we enter Valhalla, passing through the doors and out into the evening air knowing that two days of leisure is upon us and no more will we have to put up with the odious creatures who take pride in telling us what to do whilst we are imprisoned by the tempest. But oh how soon the pleasure passes!
No sooner are we laying in on a Saturday morning than it seems the seconds are racing like sleek racing machines at Le Mans and the day slips by in a heartbeat and I ruefully reflect that half the weekend is over already. Sunday is spent wishing that God had created a three day weekend as the hands of the clock continue on it’s never ending journey and time winds down and the countdown to the launch of the working week begins and sleep gives way to the breaking of the light and the whole routine of life begins again.
There is a movie called “Groundhog Day” which I am sure many are familiar with which is about a man who is trapped in the same day which repeats again and again and from which there appears to be no escape, not even in death. The day keeps repeating until the leading character, who has led a somewhat selfish life and keenly inhabited his own self-centred world, realises the errors of his ways and only when a metamorphosis of character is complete is he released from his trial and his life resumes. This movie is often referred to as we while away the hours at work, starring in our own version of “Groundhog Day”, yet we are aware that no change of character or improvement of mood or declarations that we will be nice to puppies from here on in is likely to let us break the chains of boredom and monotony which so securely bound us.
As for me, I am beginning to see that pin prick of light at the end of the long tunnel and three weeks labour lie before me until the light looms large and I am released to my own devices and take the plane to Europe. Life can be hard scrabble at times and we just have to wear it. There is nothing else to do. But we can still wish and hope for better even though we are already spoilt by riches.It is the nature of the beast.
So now, as I have released some of my nervous tension through creativity I think I can be on my way and make do with this new version of “Groundhog Day”. I hope wherever you are you may do the same. Take care and good luck.
Until next time.
Strange Notations From a Laborious Life 