it’s cold, almost bone-rattling cold and the rain hammers the windows, streaking down against a backdrop of flat gray skies. a tiny space heater does nothing to take away the chill of the overly-large office; the patchwork blanket i keep tucked under the desk does nothing to brighten the cream-and-white room.
it is sunday morning, and i am alone on the dawn shift. already, i’ve had two coffees and now i can’t tell if i am shaking from cold or from caffeine stimulation. the phone lines have remained mostly quiet and unchallenging, the odd caller wanting some piece of information, before remembering the hour and ending the call in haste.this is not unusual.
days like these i have learned to slow the paperwork that has amassed specifically for sundays, when the office is gravelike and the day’s view is blankness punctuated by pinpricks of light. it’s a slow day, one where half the shift is taken up with papers and the rest of the time is left clear for thinking. this is the time when i can reflect, have epiphanies and mini-crises, can brainstorm ideas and collect thoughts.
some days, i think my thoughts have never been thought until the time i think them. (sometimes i think them terribly unoriginal)
other days i angle myself to the window in between tasks, let my thoughts drift – this way, i lose all concept of time. space, too; when i come back to my present mind, i always find spatial awareness a little trickier than earlier. days like this are inversion-days, the ones where items seem to have moved without my realizing, where i look different to how i remember myself.
(and the calendar flips to monday. the time for pensiveness is past; time to return to my body and my mind)