Conorthoughts

Keep it slow

A 'my job' update. Since I last posted on it, it has been going, well, ...

A colleague Yvonne wrote a comment on that post. It had contained a veiled question to her that she answered neither in her comment nor in person. I would still like to know what happens to them.

Yvonne is leaving here very soon for another job. I don't know whether she will be sitting in a corner there. I must ask her. She is off sick today. I'm still sitting in my corner. Keep it slow.

The job has been going, well, ...

I'm writing this at work, during my lunch break of course, a splendidly movable feast.

Trying to talk the other evening about how the job was going with M., one of my more self-absorbed friends who had to get up very early the following morning - I had not overstayed my welcome but it was quite late and I think she wanted to have her nightly bath - she suggested swimming. It works for her. I left shortly after that.         

You know that line about always asking for and listening to your friends' advice?

This morning I woke early - again - and went for a swim. I haven't been for one for at least a year. The menu of lanes was 'Front Crawl', 'Fast & Furious', 'Getting Fast', 'Keep It Slow'. I chose my level, the 'Keep It Slow' lanes at the end. I managed eight lengths, albeit with multiple breaks and bumpings into others.

M's was good advice. Today, for a change, work has been going, well, swimmingly, not that I have got that much done yet but swimming takes many forms, as do productive days.

An adviser to whom I pay fees said to me when we last met that being in work is important because it means you're swimming.

Must go to lunch now. Keep it slow.       

 

Hope

I dial *17

"I'm sorry. You have no new messages."

It was worth a try. You never know. 

Middle

Aristotle recommends a middle way, in the Nichomachean Ethics. I'm too tired to find the book on my shelves to read what the way is about again but will go on here - my fingers are less tired - in search of it. Lots of people recommend a middle way, or they write it.

Hannes Böhringer is a thinker I like who writes it. I am name-dropping tonight. A foreign name counts here as a dropped one, I think. In his book Auf der Suche nach Einfacheit (Looking for Simplicity) - I am showing off now, one can overdo simplicity, showing off a little sometimes is perhaps part of a middle way - Böhringer, who cannot walk without a stick, manages at one point to thread his middle way through the maelström in Edgar Allan Poe's story 'A Descent into the Maelström'. But I better end quickly as my reader is, I sense, at risk of leaving me before I leave her or him.

Quickly and I will award myself a glass of wine uncorked two weeks ago!

Might the quiet corner of the office, about which I wrote yesterday, be a middle way through a

 

                                                                             (To be continued, hopefully)
 

Job

I've been in my job six months and two days now. I am speechless, sentence-less. Well, not quite. I sit in a corner. I must look for another one, a job, that is, rather than a corner, though I have nothing against corners.  A colleague who will be nameless and sits in another corner told me that people in the one I sit in - I am not its only inhabitant - don't ... I must ask her what happens to them.