Life has a tendency to take the form of lengthy periods of extreme tedium which make you yearn for some drama to alleviate the boredom, punctuated by bursts of anxious melodrama of such intensity that you long for the tedium to return. Work, unsurprisingly, generally follows the pattern of life, so predictably you'll find yourself bored and idle one day, and suffering from PTSD the next. You might even say that the pattern of work takes the pattern of life to its ultimate, with the typical work week being either soporific or nerve shattering in its impact. Only rarely do we get those moments of blissful contentment, when we're "in the zone", being engaged and energised and brimming with enthusiasm.
The sad thing is that much of the time we have no choice in how we spend our time. The task that is making you yawn, like the one that sends your blood pressure skyward, is the one that you can't avoid - usually because it pays the bills. The activity that would generate in us some level of enthusiasm is almost always the one that we don't have time for. So we live out our lives frustrated, bored, tense and exhausted. Then we die.
At the moment I'm frustrated because I don't have time to do anything creative, like painting. On the other hand I'm spending many hours a week bored, often because I'm waiting for somebody else to give me feedback for work I've already done but can't finalise until that somebody gives the OK. I'm also spending many hours a week trying to decipher the hieroglyphic scrawl of a senior member of staff whose pedantic alterations punctuate my drafts in a most undecorous manner. The imperative to obey these scratchings, combined with the inertia which comes from being unable to read or comprehend them, induces a level of anxiety only matched by the weekly sojourn up and down the Hume Highway so that I can pursue something in the nature of a personal life outside of work. I have this overwhelming urge to put my head on a pillow and sleep and wish away the whole scenario. If only it were possible.
For the time being I'll plod along in my tedium, punctuated by instances of high anxiety, in the certain knowledge that millions of other people are plodding along beside me. Strangely, I don't find that knowledge in the least reassuring.
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Thursday, July 01, 2010
A shock to the system today as I struggle to readjust to being back in work for the first time in exactly one year - I was made redundant at the end of the 2008-2009 financial year and I started a new job today, 1 July. I woke up at twenty to five - practically the middle of the night - on a freezing cold winter's day. Coffee, dress, brush teeth, do makeup, grab backpack, handbag, phone, iPod, coat, jump in car, find place to park, jump out of car, shove notes in ticket machine, jump on train, kill 80 minutes on train (trying not to fall asleep). Present self at new workplace with smile painted on face, even though filled with murderous thoughts re those Kafkaesque bureaucrats down at Centrelink.
I realise with dismay that I'm going to have to share a pokey office, something I haven't had to do for seven years. During the course of the day I discover that the office computers are blocked from checking Facebook or even webmail. No email AND no Facebook! I'm going to feel even more isolated than I was sitting at home by myself for the last twelve months.
Still, the new colleagues seem congenial enough. But the biggest shock is yet to come: No coffee in kitchen! Now, how can I get any serious thinking type work done when there's no coffee? I'm obviously going to have come prepared tomorrow. Where did I put that spare espresso machine?
The 2IC presents me with something I hadn't expected - my very own Blackberry. Ah, but its an old model which has had a previous owner, and it shows. When Blackberries first appeared they were a status symbol, like having a sports car or the corner office. But this model's looking pretty tired. I can't work out how to configure it to get the office email. That's just one more login I have to add to the half dozen I've been given to access various computer and online facilities. I write all the passwords down in my diary and make a note of the new mobile number.
In due course I scurry back to the station, wait with all the other wage slaves for the train to arrive. I climb aboard, squeeze into one of the few available seats, and steel myself for the grim commute home. Before the train has ferried its payload of workers halfway to their destination the sky has turned black as pitch and its impossible to divine the proximate location by looking out the window - all you can see is darkness punctuated by the occasional point of light. I stumble out of the train and back into my car.
On returning home I debate with myself as to whether its worth cooking dinner and whether or not I should just go to bed. I eagerly boot up the computer in order to get my overdue hit of mail and Facebook, only to discover that there's some technical problem preventing me from getting online. Gradually the reality sinks in that this is how my life is going to be for the foreseeable future. I groan silently and wonder if life as a homeless bum might not be that bad after all.
I realise with dismay that I'm going to have to share a pokey office, something I haven't had to do for seven years. During the course of the day I discover that the office computers are blocked from checking Facebook or even webmail. No email AND no Facebook! I'm going to feel even more isolated than I was sitting at home by myself for the last twelve months.
Still, the new colleagues seem congenial enough. But the biggest shock is yet to come: No coffee in kitchen! Now, how can I get any serious thinking type work done when there's no coffee? I'm obviously going to have come prepared tomorrow. Where did I put that spare espresso machine?
The 2IC presents me with something I hadn't expected - my very own Blackberry. Ah, but its an old model which has had a previous owner, and it shows. When Blackberries first appeared they were a status symbol, like having a sports car or the corner office. But this model's looking pretty tired. I can't work out how to configure it to get the office email. That's just one more login I have to add to the half dozen I've been given to access various computer and online facilities. I write all the passwords down in my diary and make a note of the new mobile number.
In due course I scurry back to the station, wait with all the other wage slaves for the train to arrive. I climb aboard, squeeze into one of the few available seats, and steel myself for the grim commute home. Before the train has ferried its payload of workers halfway to their destination the sky has turned black as pitch and its impossible to divine the proximate location by looking out the window - all you can see is darkness punctuated by the occasional point of light. I stumble out of the train and back into my car.
On returning home I debate with myself as to whether its worth cooking dinner and whether or not I should just go to bed. I eagerly boot up the computer in order to get my overdue hit of mail and Facebook, only to discover that there's some technical problem preventing me from getting online. Gradually the reality sinks in that this is how my life is going to be for the foreseeable future. I groan silently and wonder if life as a homeless bum might not be that bad after all.
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