Not feeling the best today – actually, I didn’t feel that great yesterday either. I hope I’m not coming down with something. Apparently there are a few people around at work who have been off sick. I can just see it getting piped through into all the different offices and rooms around the place. In particular, my eyes feel really dry and painful, even when I use eyedrops – the regular kind as well as my prescription ones. Maybe there’s just a lot of pollen in the air now that it’s finally spring.
It’s been a gorgeous day, and I’ve been stuck inside, very unhappily. Sunny, warm, people walking around in non-office clothing, wandering around doing non-office things. Who are these people? How do they make their money? I ask myself that every day. Like the old Talking Heads song – “how did I get here?” It all feels like some sort of slow car crash that I’ve been watching in slow motion. Work, that is. Everything else is so great at the moment that I almost feel selfish complaining about my job. I have to just keep reminding myself that I originally took it as a temporary thing when I first came back to the country. I have no idea what possessed me to stick around for so long.
One thing I did do, was finish reading Never Let Me Go, by Kazuo Ishiguro. It was a funny sort of book, a lot less dramatic and compulsive than I expected. Mind you, I’ve never read any of Ishiguro’s other books, so maybe it’s just that I’m not familiar with his style. At the same time, thought, it had a bittersweetness about it, a schoolgirl’s innocent commentary about her sheltered life. I found I put it down when I was somewhere around the middle, as I grew a bit bored hearing all about Kathy and her ongoing battles with Ruth, and finding about what made Tommy tick. I guess I kept waiting for the punchline, the decisive moment, the minute when all of the details would come to have a fuller meaning, but they didn’t… That said, I found when I finally returned to the book, there was something about it that made me continue. I guess I wanted to find out whether Kathy would finally become a donor, and what would happen to her. But you never find out, though Ishiguro does let it slip that Kathy will stop being a carer by the end of the year. Somehow despite my dissatisfaction with the novel, it had a lovely wistfulness and sadness about it that has stayed with me.
I’ve been doing quite a bit of spinning lately, not writing much though, not studying, just spinning and watching movies in the evenings. It’s nice but makes me wish I had more time to myself. The weekends just wash away, and then I’m back at work again. I wish I could work from home.
Maybe I’m just feeling a bit flat from Saturday night. We stayed up really late, drinking vodkas and looking out Alex’s window over all the lights and the ocean. But it is nearly home time – at last!