Fear of Work

He realised as he listened to the overture from Tannhauser and read the liner notes that Wagner was 53 when he wrote Siegfried’s Idyll... and that he was 53. What it meant he knew not but, somehow, derived some borrowed glory from it.


“Therefore, I am...” he pondered, “I am what? He? Him?" (confused) Siegfried?"
How quickly", he mused, somewhat clumsily, "we seek us in there – that is ... ourselves".

“I was in the kitchen when he was shot, burned, beheaded, drowned. Yes, I thought... that’s it then... When the wave struck I was upstairs and couldn’t remember why I’d gone up there, stood perplexed in the cluttered room. Then, later, as the tragedy unfolded, remembered and reflected, thought and saw, pondered on the sixth sense that had caused me to head for higher ground and thus ensured my survival.

I took comfort and reassurance from this simple incontrovertible fact. In the dawning realisation that - No, I was not stupid or indeed senile but simply possessed of the wonderful gift of prescience. It has to be said, I was in England at the time. However, the impulse was sound even if the geography was not.”

4.30pm Sunday... So much for Gotterdammerung at the Albert Hall - it started 1/2 an hour ago. Still, part of me's slightly relieved - 5 hrs for the performance and 2 intervals lasting 1hr and 1/2 hr respectively. Nearly 7 hours standing. I saw it last year at the Royal Opera House from a decent seat, Lisa Gasteen as Brunhilde so I doubt even that I'm ready to hear it again. Perhaps in another 10 years.

We spent the morning picnicking and reading books by the river Lea - me revisiting "Junky", well, at least the introduction (Ginsberg). Seems I can only read for a page or so nowadays then I lose interest. I've agreed to work 3 days at the Island Day Programme this week and its hard not to curse myself for my jingoistic eagerness in volunteering next weeks Nick for the Passchendaele hell of primary treatment.

The unit and its team are beyond reproach, the clients, too, are blameless. I've just reached the point once more where I cannot work in a rehab (No! No! No!) but I'm too tight or economically insecure to refuse the work. So I'm making a commitment to myself to do 5 more days and thats it. Two weeks in Turkey then the rest of September to find something new and extend my private practice.

Suddenly the Sunday shadow of the fear of work begins to lift and ennui gives way to energy - so much so that I'm gonna have a justified hour in bed contemplating the infinite vistas of my new-found freedom.

PS I never got my mirror either.