Old-Fashioned Fruitcake
If there’s one thing I enjoy doing, it’s moving the furniture. Plotting future moves is almost as much fun.
Earlier this year I cooked up a delicious plan in which work desks (2) would be moved out of the living room into the kitchen, and the dining table would be moved into the living room, where it could enrich its life by doubling as a sewing table, writing table, games table, etc, etc, without being surrounded by cold air (the kitchen faces south-east) and the smells of cookery.
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Yesterday I walked out of the office for the last time – and into a new life. I keep telling myself this, because it doesn’t seem real yet.
I’ve been working at the DDJ longer than I’ve been married to the Caped Gooseberry (looking forward to changing that stat) and I think it will take some time for my subconscious to realise that I’m not going back. Not on Monday, not on Tuesday, not ever.
It’s not that the DDJ was in itself so bad. The work wasn’t enormously interesting, but it certainly wasn’t the worst job I’ve ever had. My co-workers were fun and easy to get along with, and I’ll miss being part of their lives.
But it was never what I wanted to do with my life. There is an immense frustration inherent in wanting badly to do something and instead being compelled to spend hours every day in doing something else, something that isn’t important to you.
But no more! So far today I have slept in, read in bed, and rearranged furniture – three of my favourite things. More practically, I have also made a start on the housework backlog, and shopped for a second-hand desk.
To be fair, a lot of that is a normal Saturday (except I don’t often shop for furniture), so the difference is more in my awareness so far. In the words of Leslie Bricusse, “this old world is a new world and a bold world for me…”
And I’m feeling good.