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10 January 2011


I worked, year upon year in the same job, each day of the week following a plan at home, a plan at work, everything focused around being at work or preparing to be at work, then the last months a rush of details, notes to write, drawers to clean, old equipment to trash, data to backup, manuals to print, waking up nights to write down more things that needed to be done, the last week taking my personal things home, wiping the desktop, closing the door . . . suddenly . . . I was shot like from a cannon . . . free! . . . gliding . . . work is over! . . . I soared . . . giddy with excitement . . . I floated . . . curved back down . . . touched ground . . . took a few fast steps . . . then unfolded my strong wings . . . and flew.

10 January 2011


I stop after brushing my teeth and sit in the rocking chair and listen, my crazy sweet old dog breathes at my feet, I gaze around the room and enjoy the mementos of my life, I look out the window at the clouds. Then (and only then) do I get up to walk downstairs. It's these little pauses that I never had before — when it was only work-cook-clean-organize-drive-park-shop-come-home-and-do-it-again — that I savor.

This was written early November 2010. See "more" for why it's late in getting posted.

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