It’s not healthy to work all weekend. You arrive at Monday feeling like you never left your virtual desk. I read some of my book this weekend, but not enough. I didn’t pass that psychological barrier point of the half-way mark. From there you know you can slalom towards the finish if you want to. Even if its 'Das Kapital', the mid way point is psychologically meaningful. But I’m still far from that point with the remarkable work I’m reading.
Michael Cooperson’s translation of al-Hariri’s al maquat or “The Impostures” is long, but it is arranged in fifty bit-sized Turkish delights of five or so pages each. There is an introduction and a glossary to each rouge’s tale and you could spend fifteen minutes or a lifetime on any one of them. Each is translated into a different version of English style, from Virginia Woolf, to Chinua Achabe, to Margerie Kemp to L.A. surfer dude. But still, I didn’t make very much progress.
Instead, I wrote two, or three proposals and sent them off and got feedback which meant I had to send them out again. And when I rode my bike I thought about what I would say to the company that was hedging on whether or not to use us. And when I was meditating I was really sifting through a witty rejoinder I was going to use with someone else who hadn’t been very thoughtful in the way they engaged us.
And when I was cooking the dinner I was running through the numbers on just what this new series of opportunities was going to mean to my monthly income or just how it was I was going to divide up the new pot of funds, or how this affected the balance sheet of my company so that even when I was doing things that had nothing to do with business the work ethos had complete oversight of my consciousness all weekend.
I didn’t write. I fell behind on all that was non-work, as I surged ahead on working efficiencies and arrived today, at Monday, exhausted.
Monday, 4/26/21
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