inanition
Morning notes: Rubicon, A History of Private Life.
It was raining this morning--it still is raining. A backhoe growled and groaned on the boulevard while workmen looked on.
Robin hustled off to day 2 of her new job, right on time, in her blue scrubs. Day 1 went well, as she related to us last night when she got home. The new medical office, large and understaffed, is busy, with MOAs scrambling to keep up with the basic tasks of processing patients. Robin was in the "checkout" station--named for its function of seeing that patients are properly checked out after their appointments, but consisting mainly of phoning specialists to book appointments for patients who have been referred. We all enjoy the topics of workflow and office organization, so it was a fun debriefing at teatime.
This morning, when the house was empty, I sank into a state of creative inanition. I couldn't face opening up my project. I wasn't interested. I footled my time away. Oh no, I thought, not this. I did my stretches, my exercises, poured myself a grapefruit juice. And nothing. I couldn't even make myself go through the motions of opening my project. I wrote an e-mail to Warren instead.
My transocean kayak drifts, my paddle shipped as I stare at the hills of water coming and going around me, the craft itself pointing this way and that like a compass needle near magnetic north. Why am I doing this again? It's too late to be asking myself that question.
It was raining this morning--it still is raining. A backhoe growled and groaned on the boulevard while workmen looked on.
Robin hustled off to day 2 of her new job, right on time, in her blue scrubs. Day 1 went well, as she related to us last night when she got home. The new medical office, large and understaffed, is busy, with MOAs scrambling to keep up with the basic tasks of processing patients. Robin was in the "checkout" station--named for its function of seeing that patients are properly checked out after their appointments, but consisting mainly of phoning specialists to book appointments for patients who have been referred. We all enjoy the topics of workflow and office organization, so it was a fun debriefing at teatime.
This morning, when the house was empty, I sank into a state of creative inanition. I couldn't face opening up my project. I wasn't interested. I footled my time away. Oh no, I thought, not this. I did my stretches, my exercises, poured myself a grapefruit juice. And nothing. I couldn't even make myself go through the motions of opening my project. I wrote an e-mail to Warren instead.
My transocean kayak drifts, my paddle shipped as I stare at the hills of water coming and going around me, the craft itself pointing this way and that like a compass needle near magnetic north. Why am I doing this again? It's too late to be asking myself that question.
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4:17 PM
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