Labour rest, at last
In an ordinary context, cleaning up is a mundane (but necessary) task. At home, or in the office. Clutter doesn’t please the eye, or so I’ve been told. But (and there’s always a but), it can also be an imposing trigger for a round of nostalgia.
My cubicle is officially ready for summer. Or a new resident. Or whatever. There are two small boxes containing my personal effects, to be taken away / brought home at my leisure. In the garbage bins: almost twenty years of memories. The first renewal of our domain. Years and years of phone logs. Four rubber-coated spheres (the envy of those around me, even as they scoff). Some coffee cups, and a spare T-shirt, kept around in case the coffee got the better of me. And a desktop that astonishes passers-by, if only because it hasn’t been visible for many moons.
Some even asked me “Why?”; I guess my intention to move along isn’t common knowledge. With only two more days before my initial absence…
But enough patting myself on the back. That may explain the aches.
The city may have made peace with its employees. Not all, but many. The news this evening opened with a tone of disbelief; the mayor has maintained a bellicose tone for the last few months. The “other party” still has to ratify the recipe, but avoiding strike action is so much easier on the weekly paycheque. I’ll be away when the results are posted. That’s why we have the Internet. To keep me in the know.
