![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Caution: man at work
Jun. 9th, 2009 06:33 pmI had to go see my physio again this morning, knowing that the words I said to her would cause her to hurt me exceedingly. She's trying to retrain my body; it's a sort of Educating Ouchie.
And then I come out of there, achingly sore and exhausted - and because it is late morning, I head straight down to the Lit & Phil, because there is still a day's work to be done.
The nice thing, though, about working in the Lit & Phil? Is that once I'm there, I'm working; and there is no distraction (except for those unpleasances who believe that the words "Silence Room" don't actually apply to them; I suppose that they're inevitable, but grrr...), and I can get a day's ration written in a surprisingly short time. Today, by two o'clock. Which meant that I could drift home unhurriedly, without that constant what-should-I-be-doing? pressure that is the bane of the self-employed; I had done what I should have been doing, and anything after this was candy and cake. Tea and crumpets. Nice things, and unnecessary.
In fact, once I got home, I sat down again to finish my chapter, which is all extra polish on my halo: fifty pages down, yay. You could call that ten per cent, if you wanted.
And now I am off out to the opera, as a working man may when his other work is done. It's Mozart, yay: that piece that by instinct I call Il Seraglio, and then remember that it was written in defiance of the tradition of Italian libretti and so should properly be called Die Entführung aus dem Serail, except that tonight it's to be sung in English and so I suppose I should call it The Abduction from the Seraglio but I really don't want to. I don't like opera in translation, me. But hey, y'know. Opera. Nice people singing at me. This we like.
And then I come out of there, achingly sore and exhausted - and because it is late morning, I head straight down to the Lit & Phil, because there is still a day's work to be done.
The nice thing, though, about working in the Lit & Phil? Is that once I'm there, I'm working; and there is no distraction (except for those unpleasances who believe that the words "Silence Room" don't actually apply to them; I suppose that they're inevitable, but grrr...), and I can get a day's ration written in a surprisingly short time. Today, by two o'clock. Which meant that I could drift home unhurriedly, without that constant what-should-I-be-doing? pressure that is the bane of the self-employed; I had done what I should have been doing, and anything after this was candy and cake. Tea and crumpets. Nice things, and unnecessary.
In fact, once I got home, I sat down again to finish my chapter, which is all extra polish on my halo: fifty pages down, yay. You could call that ten per cent, if you wanted.
And now I am off out to the opera, as a working man may when his other work is done. It's Mozart, yay: that piece that by instinct I call Il Seraglio, and then remember that it was written in defiance of the tradition of Italian libretti and so should properly be called Die Entführung aus dem Serail, except that tonight it's to be sung in English and so I suppose I should call it The Abduction from the Seraglio but I really don't want to. I don't like opera in translation, me. But hey, y'know. Opera. Nice people singing at me. This we like.