It is perhaps not surprising that now that work is starting to settle into a routine, I’m suddenly finding time to write on the blog again. It’s not that I’m slacking off at work, per se, so much as there is down time where I still need to be at or near my computer — so why not write? Ten minutes here, five minutes there, and next thing you know, there’s a post. I’m not going to hold by breath that things will always work out that way, but it is nice to have a moment to breathe, and to use my brain for my own purposes.
“I learned when I was young that the only true life I had was the life of my brain. But if it’s true the only real life I have is the life of my brain, what sense does it make to hand that brain to somebody for eight hours a day for their particular use on the presumption that at the end of the day they will give it back in an unmutilated condition?” Fry Pan Jack, via Utah Philips
Definitely a sentiment that I can get behind — I get home more often than not wanting to just hide out, and the idea of working on any of the projects that I have on my plate seems actively repugnant. There’s only so long, however, that you can put up with that before you suffer a soul-death. We are not automata, we are humans. We have dreams and aspirations and goals and desires, and falling into the rigidity and rote of corporatism is inherently inimical to those emotional and intellectual needs. I mean, hey, maybe you dream of spending most of your waking hours in a cubicle, doing work you aren’t appreciated for. I’m not judging. I know it isn’t what I dream of, though, nor anyone I’ve asked.
It’s that drive to survive (in the true sense, not the literal sense) that spawns office haiku, an overdeveloped affection for coffee, and reams upon reams of internet cruft. Where do you think memes get their momentum? Bored employees and students, people who technically should be working on something else, but have hit their limit, and needed to look at or think about anything else for at least a little bit. The more random, idiotic, or inane the better. We’re looking for some spark of the personal to feed our soul. That’s my observation, anyway, anecdotal as it may be.