Fucking tired again
Fucking tired again, at the end of another hard day.
Although I did do some shopping for clothes on Oxford Street After work.
I went looking for ties, tie clips and white shirts that are more opaque than the crappy ones I bought from BHS.
But all I really got was three stripey shirts from H&M, plus four pairs of black socks, same shop.
But I bet you're wondering what my day was like.
Here's the skinny: It was better. I mean, it couldn't have possibly been worse, otherwise I wouldn't be here, I'd be in Hollywood pitching my story to Kiefer Sutherland for the next season of 24:
"Kiefer, that terrorist shit is tired. Here's where it's at: A lousy List-caller has a Crap Day at a North London Courthouse!"
Nope. It was good.
You probably recall I finishe the last post mentioning that I was running late for my life-drawing class. As it happens, I was so exhausted, depressed, late etc that I decided to pass on the life drawing class and just lie down on the couch for a bit. This was 7 PM.
(those who know me know that I would have had to have been feeling pretty extreme for me to pass on Life Drawing Class, since there is no way that I would normally miss the chance to see a woman naked... even if it is for, ahem, artistic purposes)
And it was still pretty light outside.
Next thing I know it's fuck-knows-when, it's dark and I've still got my shoes on. Lying on the same couch.
Hmm, thinks I. I could get up and go to my bedroom, but I think I'll draw the blanket that I left here for just this occaision over me and contemplate it some more. Sooooo Tiiiiirrrrrreeeeeddddd.....
And then I suddenly became aware that it was getting light outside. SHIT!
I leapt off the couch and tried to check the time in the kitchen, only to discover that I had left the kitchen clock in the bathroom that morning when I had taken it there to make sure that I wasn't taking too long showering and shaving.
I run upstairs: I check the clock on my phone and it is... 0635.
Nearly the exact time that I crawl out of bed anyway. If it had been another half an hour (or worse) I would have been fucked.
But it wasn't. Thank Christ for that.
In any case, I did everything that I had to do to get to work on time, and got there about quarter past eight.
I got started on the pre-court prep stuff, to discover that we had to deal with 47 cases, not counting whatever late matters happened to appear out of the ether.
Elaine was happy. She likes a heavy list. Me, I was terrified.
In any case, she told me to be the usher for the day. Probably expecting me to flake out seriously, as usual.
Fortunately, I had a secret weapon. Not only had I had nearly 12 hours of sleep (nearly half of what I had for the entirety of Saturday through to Saturday), I had also finally remembered to bring the bag of Chocolate covered coffee beans that I had bought at Leadenhall Markets.
Coupled with my resolve not to let this job beat me, the Chocolate Covered Coffee Beans meant that I was able to concentrate, better. The caffeine in the coffee beans made me feel energetic and alert, but the chocolate meant that I didn't turn into a bundle of nerves, like I have been after drinking a whole 600 ml bottle of coke before work (and usually another during lunch).
Elaine actually said that she could not ask for a better Usher.
Of course, it didn't hurt that the Court Clerk made up the files (ie placed all the relevant bits of paper in the correct order in the correct place in the file) before putting them on the bench for me to collect them, or that she was pretty good with passing over the bail sheets.
Still, as a n00b, I do need all the help I can get.
Lunchtime: I'm feeling pretty good. I run into Chris (the other n00b, who has nearly walked out as often as me) and he tells me that he has been list calling all morning, and doing brilliant at it.
Thanks man. Make me look bad next time : )
He also told me that he knows some bands that need a couple of tour managers over december. He'll drive the Volkswagon Combi, I can ride shotgun. All we have to do is get from venue to venue, make sure that everything is running smoothly and handle the Trim Co-ordination. Fuck it. I'm in.
Anyways, I went to a caff, got myself a chicken sammich and hie'd back to the courtroom, where Elaine got me back to next to her table.
Next to her table it was harder to sneak the coffee beans when the judges weren't looking (I had them in a white paper bag). Fortunately I found some in a small cardboard box in one of the chain cafes in Waterstones on Oxford Street after work. Easier to conceal and stuff.
I'm sure that if I explained that the coffee beans make it easier for me to do my job and not freak out completely, the Judge might let me have them, but it is technically against the court rules.
Nevermind.
Elaine got me to do some calling this afternoon, and I handled it okay.
I'm just about at the stage where I can call the items all right. It is just dealing the the solicitors, the defendants, making sure that the CPS prosecutors have the relevant bundles, that the defendants in custody are waiting in the wings and that I know which case I am going to go to when that is the hard part.
Still, if Chris can do it, I should be able to do it soon. Chris isn't that much smarter than me, Cambridge Degree or not.
Anyways, I'm going to drop my bag (full of vitamins, face-wash, and shaving gel) and the three shirts that I bought back at the flat and then go get myself a steak to fry up before turning in for an early night.
Before I sign off, one more thing: does anyone out there have any idea the ribbing that any Australian in London is getting right now over the Ashes?
Goddamn!
Over and out.
J
Although I did do some shopping for clothes on Oxford Street After work.
I went looking for ties, tie clips and white shirts that are more opaque than the crappy ones I bought from BHS.
But all I really got was three stripey shirts from H&M, plus four pairs of black socks, same shop.
But I bet you're wondering what my day was like.
Here's the skinny: It was better. I mean, it couldn't have possibly been worse, otherwise I wouldn't be here, I'd be in Hollywood pitching my story to Kiefer Sutherland for the next season of 24:
"Kiefer, that terrorist shit is tired. Here's where it's at: A lousy List-caller has a Crap Day at a North London Courthouse!"
Nope. It was good.
You probably recall I finishe the last post mentioning that I was running late for my life-drawing class. As it happens, I was so exhausted, depressed, late etc that I decided to pass on the life drawing class and just lie down on the couch for a bit. This was 7 PM.
(those who know me know that I would have had to have been feeling pretty extreme for me to pass on Life Drawing Class, since there is no way that I would normally miss the chance to see a woman naked... even if it is for, ahem, artistic purposes)
And it was still pretty light outside.
Next thing I know it's fuck-knows-when, it's dark and I've still got my shoes on. Lying on the same couch.
Hmm, thinks I. I could get up and go to my bedroom, but I think I'll draw the blanket that I left here for just this occaision over me and contemplate it some more. Sooooo Tiiiiirrrrrreeeeeddddd.....
And then I suddenly became aware that it was getting light outside. SHIT!
I leapt off the couch and tried to check the time in the kitchen, only to discover that I had left the kitchen clock in the bathroom that morning when I had taken it there to make sure that I wasn't taking too long showering and shaving.
I run upstairs: I check the clock on my phone and it is... 0635.
Nearly the exact time that I crawl out of bed anyway. If it had been another half an hour (or worse) I would have been fucked.
But it wasn't. Thank Christ for that.
In any case, I did everything that I had to do to get to work on time, and got there about quarter past eight.
I got started on the pre-court prep stuff, to discover that we had to deal with 47 cases, not counting whatever late matters happened to appear out of the ether.
Elaine was happy. She likes a heavy list. Me, I was terrified.
In any case, she told me to be the usher for the day. Probably expecting me to flake out seriously, as usual.
Fortunately, I had a secret weapon. Not only had I had nearly 12 hours of sleep (nearly half of what I had for the entirety of Saturday through to Saturday), I had also finally remembered to bring the bag of Chocolate covered coffee beans that I had bought at Leadenhall Markets.
Coupled with my resolve not to let this job beat me, the Chocolate Covered Coffee Beans meant that I was able to concentrate, better. The caffeine in the coffee beans made me feel energetic and alert, but the chocolate meant that I didn't turn into a bundle of nerves, like I have been after drinking a whole 600 ml bottle of coke before work (and usually another during lunch).
Elaine actually said that she could not ask for a better Usher.
Of course, it didn't hurt that the Court Clerk made up the files (ie placed all the relevant bits of paper in the correct order in the correct place in the file) before putting them on the bench for me to collect them, or that she was pretty good with passing over the bail sheets.
Still, as a n00b, I do need all the help I can get.
Lunchtime: I'm feeling pretty good. I run into Chris (the other n00b, who has nearly walked out as often as me) and he tells me that he has been list calling all morning, and doing brilliant at it.
Thanks man. Make me look bad next time : )
He also told me that he knows some bands that need a couple of tour managers over december. He'll drive the Volkswagon Combi, I can ride shotgun. All we have to do is get from venue to venue, make sure that everything is running smoothly and handle the Trim Co-ordination. Fuck it. I'm in.
Anyways, I went to a caff, got myself a chicken sammich and hie'd back to the courtroom, where Elaine got me back to next to her table.
Next to her table it was harder to sneak the coffee beans when the judges weren't looking (I had them in a white paper bag). Fortunately I found some in a small cardboard box in one of the chain cafes in Waterstones on Oxford Street after work. Easier to conceal and stuff.
I'm sure that if I explained that the coffee beans make it easier for me to do my job and not freak out completely, the Judge might let me have them, but it is technically against the court rules.
Nevermind.
Elaine got me to do some calling this afternoon, and I handled it okay.
I'm just about at the stage where I can call the items all right. It is just dealing the the solicitors, the defendants, making sure that the CPS prosecutors have the relevant bundles, that the defendants in custody are waiting in the wings and that I know which case I am going to go to when that is the hard part.
Still, if Chris can do it, I should be able to do it soon. Chris isn't that much smarter than me, Cambridge Degree or not.
Anyways, I'm going to drop my bag (full of vitamins, face-wash, and shaving gel) and the three shirts that I bought back at the flat and then go get myself a steak to fry up before turning in for an early night.
Before I sign off, one more thing: does anyone out there have any idea the ribbing that any Australian in London is getting right now over the Ashes?
Goddamn!
Over and out.
J
posted by the.exile at 7:36 pm
3 Comments:
Hi J.
Read the last few days of your posts. Hate to be a broken record, but I'd sure like to see a real piece of "fiction" crafted out of your blog.
You're so close in telling a complete story. Your prose is snappy, original, your outlook ironic and, yes, melancholic, but amusing.
I'm not getting to the point I'm trying to make.
You get to the kernel, the absurd kernel of modern shuffling and posturing. You describe distaste with a real talent. I can feel your bone tiredness.
You are describing a larger state of the world, not just yourself but the overall state of modern, disaffected life.
We make the best of it and yet so often come up empty.
I can feel myself in the courtroom shrinking from touching the man you describe. You put me there.
That's not easy for any writer to do.
I'm no publisher but I've read a lot of interesting blogs and yours continues to grab me.
Wish you'd write a few short stories and submit them. You never know, it might pave a way out of the courtroom.
On another note, your exhaustion - I can relate to it, I've been there myself - but is it becoming chronic?
Great if you were just a fictitious character, it's dramatic stuff, but worrisome to see you, apparently, so run down.
I wonder if you're eating well enough.
And, yes, I know you have a mother.
Perhaps another piece in the puzzle for your consideration:
Louise Hay writes that deep fatigue is the result of "resistance, boredom and lack of love for what one does."
It's a no brainer that this fits how you seem to feel about your job.
Who cannot relate?
Chocolate covered coffee beans snuck into the courtroom. Being left in the lurch because a woman is having a breakdown in the bathroom.
That gives such a delicious hint of just how wretched your job is - a woman may have gone mad doing it.
Funny stuff as long as I'm not living it.
Your readership thanks you for your suffering.
Impatiently waiting for your volume of short stories to be published -
Clyo
P.S.
Forgot to give you the name of what I think is the most valuable book for writers I've ever read.
It's The Writer's Journey, Second Edition : Mythic Structure for Writers by Christopher Vogler. My review is posted on Amazon.com. If you have time - what am I saying?
Go sleep instead.
In any event, here's the link.
Yet again you have blindsided me with something that made me smile.
I thank my readership for reading, and for occaisionally sending a signal back from the void.
The question as to whether my Exhaustion is chronic (as in Chronic Fatigue) or merely just the result of misdirected energy and lousy time management is one which has haunted myself and those around me since high-school. To tell the truth, different people have been convinced of different answers to the question.
I'm trying to write some short stories. But I'm too exhausted and disorganized to break out the laptop to do it.
Thanks for the link.
Post a Comment
<< Home