| Saturday, November 13, 2004 |
 | The whole world plus the work of the world
Every three months or so, work gets hardcore. This time around was more hardcore than some, partly because a protective layer of employee (the one I could trust to do most of the actual stuff) hds been torn away, and partly because after a week off, the horror of the US elections and the emotional fall-out from that and its consequences, I was really not. In. The. Mood.
Still, every industry has its crunch times, and it's now over, although of course the mini-crunch begins as everything that was shelved during the crunch cycle falls out of the back of the cupboard. It's the waste as much as anything else - arriving in a hotel room knowing that in an hour I will have to shower and head out again. Not moving around the streets when anyone else is - 4 in the morning out, 5:45 back. Chatting to the cleaners. I used to pull back-to-back all-nighters when I was 19 and had tutorials two days in a row. It wasn't a great idea then, and getting a better class of takeaway doesn't make it a brilliant idea now.
Could be a lot worse, at least - the fact that nobody in Britain is supposed to enjoy their job at least means that they get to kvetch and shirk somewhat. If you find yourself actually doing what you've always wanted to do, the opportunities for abuse are incalculable. Which makes me fear for this poor French butterfly on a big, hard English wheel. In general, my hatred of jobhunting, musical CV or no, is so great that if I was currently being employed to be rabbit-punched in the kidneys by a leering Dalmatian, I'd probably resign myself to it fairly quickly. Having said which, maybe I should be considering my next move, inspired by the slightly disturbing suggestion that I had given my talent to my work and my genius to a fucking bulletin board, and a vague desire to get radical in some way or another.
Aporia. So much is happening in my life, in my head. When was this ever not the case? When will this ever not be the case? Maybe I should try to express my emotions creatively. Maybe through a flash animation. That's what Archilochus would have done, had he only the tools.
Of course, yesterday was also Remembrance Day, one of those slightly awkward feast days. The silence was observed, although signalling its beginning and end by a short blast of the fire alarm made me feel somewhat like I was in the Machine Gunners. Was that inappropriate? It's confusing these days... I think I probably accumulated a lot of good karma for at no point referring to my desperate and distraught state running between three computers - fox, chicken, bag of grain - as in any way comparable to being shell-shocked.
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