April 4, 2011 The Last Seventy-two Hours
So while I’m trying to get used to an indefinite hiatus or semi-retirement from sport, I’m still consciously planning to schedule (yes, very formal but–) a modest run in what seems like a twenty-hour day. Not forgetting that at least ten hours will be set aside for the paper itself; five of which is mental whining and the subsequent collective effort to brace myself while the other five will be the actual writing process. If it’s not for work or anything else, the other ten hours of my average day can be considered as lost time but assuming that it all leads to the completion of my graduation paper before the end of this week; everything is okay. But I really have to say this: I’ve never felt better being this busy (or at least, being occupied with these things) — filling out applications and research proposals, essays, and now with the new-found responsibilities of being the resident bookshop lemur. I cannot think of any superlatives to adequately describe my current dream/work environment because it will only be fitting if accompanied with expletives… but this is my kind of busy, and in a whim (whether or not I might come to regret saying this in the future) I’ve decided that I could live like this. Sure, sometimes I do like to float along and I usually embrace it completely when the moment(s) of self-indulgence arise but I wouldn’t trade anything for where I am now; essays, responsibilities and all.
Sometimes the whole scene gets a little overrated (not the literary one but the mildly sensitive h- word), I might even be unintentionally detached; not that I don’t appreciate it but I have a feeling I will most probably stay that way — I’m just in it for the books and the associated paraphernalia, the culmination of all imagined histories, the occasional person that walks in and the best potential conversations (Pico and Cake too); that in itself is already more than enough for me. It’s just one of those days: sweatshop duties, lunch-time errands, the Sunday crowd and Los Campesinos!, The Mystery of the Lost Signal and the Credit Card Machine, oscillating between Flatland and the Wahhabi Movement to cope with the mental saturation of Ackroyd (it’s been three months), and also, Mom’s finally back safe. I couldn’t not immerse myself in the brevity of the moment.
“Sorry to have troubled you to find the ATM machine, but at least you had that bicycle.”
“Well, that’s what Sundays are for.”
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Tags: Coconut Man Moonhead and Pea, We're paying with love tonight, Wow what an awesome day
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Permalink # your pet unicorn said
i think i found a little sanity here – i like how chaos is actually safety in secrecy, for you at least (and that i am sincerely happy that you are happy no qualms about that). and here’s something really gay but i’ve decided to… SUBSCRIBE TO YOUR JOURNAL.
Permalink # mich (bookshop elephant) said
nice post & i can so empathise & what are you studying! btw it may be inappropriate for a less-than-10min acquaintance to say this but you look better with short hair. cooler and it fits the tat. :>