Caught the news earlier tonight while I was having finner. Today was my last day at work, during the whole day I'd been busy tying up loose ends, the final frantic hour after almost a month of ease came somewhat unexpected.
Trying to get through all the procedures of the resignation process left my occupied mind little room to manoeuvre, it wasn't after 1600 when most of the people were gone and me found myself closing the doors for one last time that I was capable of appreciating the fact that it was the last time I was doing it, the thing I used to call, with no little amount of disdain, "routine". I didn't want it to end here, I liked the job despite some of its less than desirable elements. If it wasn't for my blasted thesis, no, if it wasn't for my incapability of studying while working, I would still be seeing my students merrily in less than 2 months...
It's too late for that. The future will not be avoided. One more extra year or not will inevitably meet its end, and you'll see yourself bitching about the bloody routine again and tying up the loose ends in the final frantic hour.
A couple of days ago I accidentally came upon Bob Marley's "No, Woman, Nuh Cry" and it brought me immediately back to Spain, to the smoke, to the strolling quietly in the beautifully illuminated streets under the moon, to her, to them, to memory, to me bitching about my flatmates, to the sky-high dirty plates in the sink, to spending too much time wasting it, to being in a bad mood constantly, to fooling around aimlessly, to finding the end fast approaching, to leaving on a jet plane, to moisturized cheeks, to remembering it fondly afterwards.
To remembering fondly that in the best year of my life I was bitching about nothing of critical importance. Of course, I didn't know during that time that it was going to be the best time of my life. But it was. And now I can only remember it. Would it be better that I stayed in that place and time complaining about things for all the eternity than remembering it, recreating it in my mind, with such fondness in years to come without being able to actually relive it?
Trying to get through all the procedures of the resignation process left my occupied mind little room to manoeuvre, it wasn't after 1600 when most of the people were gone and me found myself closing the doors for one last time that I was capable of appreciating the fact that it was the last time I was doing it, the thing I used to call, with no little amount of disdain, "routine". I didn't want it to end here, I liked the job despite some of its less than desirable elements. If it wasn't for my blasted thesis, no, if it wasn't for my incapability of studying while working, I would still be seeing my students merrily in less than 2 months...
It's too late for that. The future will not be avoided. One more extra year or not will inevitably meet its end, and you'll see yourself bitching about the bloody routine again and tying up the loose ends in the final frantic hour.
A couple of days ago I accidentally came upon Bob Marley's "No, Woman, Nuh Cry" and it brought me immediately back to Spain, to the smoke, to the strolling quietly in the beautifully illuminated streets under the moon, to her, to them, to memory, to me bitching about my flatmates, to the sky-high dirty plates in the sink, to spending too much time wasting it, to being in a bad mood constantly, to fooling around aimlessly, to finding the end fast approaching, to leaving on a jet plane, to moisturized cheeks, to remembering it fondly afterwards.
To remembering fondly that in the best year of my life I was bitching about nothing of critical importance. Of course, I didn't know during that time that it was going to be the best time of my life. But it was. And now I can only remember it. Would it be better that I stayed in that place and time complaining about things for all the eternity than remembering it, recreating it in my mind, with such fondness in years to come without being able to actually relive it?
