No, this is not a DE. Pointless as it seems, maybe it should’ve been. Who knows.
The rain is supposed to be coming up this friday, and last evening’s rain has been an effective preview. I woke up after some semi-bizarre night with that weird feeling in my throat again. Great, that’s just what i needed. Throat ache every 10 days. I pack myself inside an additional layer of thick clothing and add a scarf to the whole thing. Stepping outside, i recognize that actually the sun is shining, ignoring my oh-so winter-y clothing and throat reactions. At least it’s thursday, supposedly being the last-day-of-working-week which has had barely any meaning lately, considering the workload and deadlines. I cross the street and head for the Busstation. The bus is late as usual. I plug my earphones in and flip through my music, eventually choosing an Album i already know, to feel safe. Safe for this one busride.
How fragile are we. I will never get it, and I really hope i’ll never have to. It seems to me like i’m just a piece of paper; Everyone, no – everything, can write on me, everything can choose its medium for writing. They take a black felt pen, and start drawing those circles on the paper… if they’ll repeat the circles in the same lines exactly, the felt will eventually go through that first layer of paper. Let’s hope there are some more sheets underneath. If someone started drawing with coloured pencils on the paper, the one trying his luck with the felt pen later might have some trouble doing his thing
The traffic at the industrial area’s main junction shows its grace to us today; The ride is relatively quick. Walking from the busstation to the yellow building, i continue to evoke the general structure of things i should be remembering once sitting at my work’s desk. Tasks. Timelines. Next actions. Problems. Ideas. This process usually starts at the bus and ends in front of the screen. I arrive at my desk, connect all the gear. Load up the dreaded OWA and check for things that might surprise me. If something does indeed surprise me, and seems to be in due of immediate response, i start making calls or writing emails. Otherwise, immediatly after having all the gear set I go 2 floors up and get my daily espresso ready while exchanging a few morning greetings. Maybe a slice of bread to go with it, prepared on a disposable plate because i’m a terrible, terrible man. If there’s something else besides the coffee, i often have it in the kitchen. If the coffee comes alone and i’m in a hurry, downstairs it goes and back to the grind it flows.
How glad you must be to have that job of yours. Where exactly would you be without it? Never before did you get such a strong tool for escaping yourself, escaping others, escaping what other would call real life, escaping what you’d call real life, a daily doctrine of task handling and micro-management. A failing management, quite often. What is that weird nature that goes on there at your working place that makes you feel it’s such a safe place to be. You’re not sure. Still, you love it. It has proven a few things to the people you otherwise would call you a bum (you assume). Still, you feel a bum. You can’t shake off the feeling that you’re not really…using your arsenal. Is there an arsenal? There, you’re pretty confused, now that you’ve seen all those pretty things. All those amazing works. What are you doing? Nurturing your insecurity, or just gathering inspiration? How long are you gonna stay that way? Waiting for your hands to do something with your blubbering lake of thoughts?
Current versions, future versions. Internal tasks, External tasks, incoming, outgoing. Workflow managment. Priority management. All those fancy words that i’d never thought i’d be using, not even after i had already started working at more or less the same area. And there it is. I’m fucking busy, like i never was before. It’s what i wanted, i can’t complain. As with most jobs that involve large part of managing, the creativity is held in a certain check, but that doesn’t bother someone who sometimes loves the structure much more than the purpose it serves. I still have those small things that keep me happy, sometimes very happy, about my job. It must be a funky mix of both positive and negative things. And then there are…the people. The interaction. The inside jokes.
Yeah, well. the people at work are nowhere like the people outside work. You know exactly where you stand. Isn’t it somewhat ironic? Everything seems to be sorted out. At least has been so far, lately. As long as it’s inside a work structure, everything seems to be legitimate. But in your private time you’re hanging out with people at some place and spend most of your time unable to shut your mouth from gossipping non-stop. And later you ask yourself if that’s the best thing you could do with your friends. Instead you feel you probably should be dragging yourself through an episode of self-realization of the lost things you haven’t done in years. Nice circle. Double impact for you. Everything looks so dangerous outside that LCD. dangerously beautiful. Life is beautiful, you think. No, you’re quite sure. But the beauty that you’re able to enjoy is mostly that one that doesn’t need your intervention. The given beauty. The distant beauty. You have been called a coward more than once. The spine of yours should be quasi non-existent, according to all that you’ve been told. Then again, these guys, well, they’re not much better off it seems. What would they do now?
I intended to go up and get some fresh air at the balkony, but the rain is back, which means no balkony for me. Still, I can go upstairs and have my lunch early in order to not stumble upon the ‘heavy traffic’ of lunch-goers that occurs about half an hour later. I’ll just fill my Pita with something. As a gastronomic and quasi-healthy accessoir a cucumber should do. The Fridges are loaded and yet, nothing seems to fit. That sounds almost like “i have nothing to wear” now, doesn’t it? I sit myself at the empty table, and give the cluttered newspapers a look. Someone else has sat himself at the table, too. Small greeting and a pollite bon appettit. The newspaper goes to him. After having finished my ‘main course’ i decide to take my ‘dessert’ back to my cubicle. The thoughts are racing through my mind, i gotta shut them down somehow. I need to turn my mind into a brick. Into a square….flat gray square…white surface…
..now let’s fire up that crappy OWA and let’s look what lies ahead. 3 Graphic apps open, 2 management apps and yet nothing is flowing… white square.
Gray surface.
Let’s just start this crap. I start running with the mouse and urge myself to not look left and right. No shifting. No marking. Just running. Getting response. Continuing. Polishing. No, not too much. Go on. Just go. Looks like crap. Or does it? Awaiting response. No, no time for break yet. Keep running, keep it together. Keep your head together. 2 hours have passed, just hold it tightly.
White Surface, gray square, flat…