There is a buzz in the office, even post lunch, when the silence oozing from the appalling siesta screams into the minutes between three and four. It is the financial year end. My foot.
Earlier, the parameters of "productivity" would depend entirely only on the ratio of ass-on-chair. Unfortunately, the conditions have wholly reversed, and most of us are stuck on our chairs, wasting precious hours off the one life we have. Such a pain. Literally.
For a person like yours truly, such a situation, from a distance, couldn't seem better. One could write as much when one had a desk and chair. Alas, it always seems fine from afar -- luscious, fulfilling -- like the endless videos meant to tickle either our satiation, or our wit. But, do they really? They all have one thing in common, the innate nature of "giving." As if they gave to our lives the little laugh we lack, the victorious moments we lost, the idea that we are learning. That they are the all in all, while we, we are hopefully and hopelessly dependent on them for our existence.
The information tells not more than a minute on our minds, but assimilates on our backs, in tremendous bounty, like now. The time ticks away to only one goal -- when to clock out.
Creativity does not perish with rejection as much as it does with boredom. If one gives one half of a day to "work" which is far away from the curve of creativity, one really has only day-end and month-end to look forward to.
And that, is not quite the end one wants, to regret, at the end of life.
So, we write.
The means? Is that not an end too?
Earlier, the parameters of "productivity" would depend entirely only on the ratio of ass-on-chair. Unfortunately, the conditions have wholly reversed, and most of us are stuck on our chairs, wasting precious hours off the one life we have. Such a pain. Literally.
For a person like yours truly, such a situation, from a distance, couldn't seem better. One could write as much when one had a desk and chair. Alas, it always seems fine from afar -- luscious, fulfilling -- like the endless videos meant to tickle either our satiation, or our wit. But, do they really? They all have one thing in common, the innate nature of "giving." As if they gave to our lives the little laugh we lack, the victorious moments we lost, the idea that we are learning. That they are the all in all, while we, we are hopefully and hopelessly dependent on them for our existence.
The information tells not more than a minute on our minds, but assimilates on our backs, in tremendous bounty, like now. The time ticks away to only one goal -- when to clock out.
Creativity does not perish with rejection as much as it does with boredom. If one gives one half of a day to "work" which is far away from the curve of creativity, one really has only day-end and month-end to look forward to.
And that, is not quite the end one wants, to regret, at the end of life.
So, we write.
The means? Is that not an end too?
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