I have shed the layers of my outer clothing, and set the knife down by my avocado. I’m sitting in the sun to work today. I am terribly behind, but the radio is playing Paranoid Android, and magpies are singing in the trees.
Stitched together photos are scattered accross my screen, along with a complicated, colour coded spreadsheet. It looks very professional, if someone were to visit now they would be impressed. But people only visit when you’ve gone lazy.
I am perhaps not investing enogh of my soul in my work, but all of a sudden, a few weeks ago, I lost all passion for it. I think it’s just the honours year condition. My eyes grow weary of sea creatures on my screen. I tap my fingers on my desk, and daydream of a rising sea.
To keep track of where I’m up to in the colony, I’ve named regions of the branching structure after places. The Letters A-H, Australia-HongKong. I reach a landmark in my work (Behold Toby, Conqueror of Guam!), and take a short break. The kettle boils and I, standing in the sunshine, glance over at the computer. My complicated spreadsheet, in all it’s staggered colour, in all it’s back-breaking effort, looks like a gay pride flag draped over a ziggurat.
The radio bursts forth with one of the more camp Presets songs, and I burst out laughing. Rock on, you crazy Aztec cats. Dance the night away.