Something stale

Monday. 2005 hours.

After a last minute errand for my boss, I was left with only ten minutes to make it to yoga class. I had two choices: [1] Stay on and work late - it was unlikely I could make it to class on time. [2] Grab a cab and pray (yes, I do "pray" - though not to any entity in particular - and for "things") the class starts late, as it sometimes does. If not, I would just drag my long face home.

So, I fled. I fled from the office - literally. At the carpark, someone I work with offered a ride. But neither he nor his wife knew where Telok Ayer Street was, and I was not sure of the way. (Not even when I have been to a place a hundred times before.) Anyway, I did not think he would be too happy if I had gotten all three of us on a car rally around Chinatown. I thanked them anyway and continued my hasty flight. They seemed a little concerned; I must have been quite a sight - all wild-eyed with hair flying and the words tumbling out of my mouth.

I managed to join the class in time - it started about ten minutes late.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Lately, something in me has been revolting against staying in the office past 7 or 8 pm. Not because I hate my work. Not so much because there is usually some place to go - yoga, climbing, the occasional dinner with SF and assorted creatures, or personal errands. Some nights, I have literally fled the office, usually to get to yoga... because I needed to... clear my mind, I suppose. And I suppose it gives me the strength and focus to get through the week.

Heck, some weekends, I even find myself needing to be out of the house. And when I am out... in the day... the light... the sun on my face and arms... the open space all around me (okayyy, the slivers of open space in between the HDB flats and concrete buildings)... I just know it - out there - is where I should be.

My feet are trying to tell me something.

So, when A talked to me again about his plans to move to UK (before that, it was Canada) and whether I would consider going together with him and his wife, I found myself considering and looking forward to an alternate reality; and my usual fears about friends/strangers, job, family, love (or lack thereof) and so on, barely mattered. I am, however, certain that I will not move unless I can write or be involved in publishing - I do not want to spend the better part of my days hating what I have to do for food and shelter. (Unfortunately, current finances are not looking too good. Heh.)

The truth - my truth - is out there.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I am not the only who feels it.

My colleague asked if I had ever thought of a career change. A few of us know that we cannot do what we are doing forever, and there are only so many creative ways of doing our work. Then, she commented about the office "feng shui" and that there is something stale and oppressive about the air. Morale has - always - been low; though, better in recent months after a few major changes. And there is that other thing about our not-altogether-undesirable singles whose situations have remained status quo.

Maybe it is the mortuary next door - though I have never felt anything of the supernatural kind.

Maybe we just need to let in some natural light. I just do not understand the point of spending thousands of dollars to repaint the building, among other selected and superficial improvements, but do nothing about the thick, ugly and green-frosted windows. I am very tempted to take a baseball bat to the windows one of these nights.



Walking with giants

I dunno. Everytime I accomplish something significant, someone would get envious (not always someone in particular; and it never comes from the guys at the top who are really the ones pushing me ahead) and throw spanners into the gears. Why? Why does it always have to be like that? Why - me?

The latest was an extremely hostile attempt - albeit unsuccessful, because she came barging into my territory and I was determined to keep her out.

Meanwhile, the-four-legged-fire-breathing-creature-of-myth-who-keeps-breathing-down-my-neck thinks I should start writing and putting my name to articles. (And the recent episode did not escape him - I wanted him to know.) Which, is not a bad idea since I really cannot continue what I have been doing for almost four years, and it is about time for a career change within the next two years.



Itching. Shedding. Evolving.

Is this the way that things must be? Indeed?

Then, I will. I will - change. And I will - embrace change.