And we've got to get ourselves back to the garden

Fret not, this is only the fourth time I'm starting to write a post and hopefully this time, I won't abandon mid way. That last time the first line read "third" time doesn't help matters, but what the heck.

I'm feeling a strange air around me. My tendons are lazy, my loins are screaming for some attention, my mind has almost completed its nth plot against me - or so I'm told - and my life is threatening to enter into its usually complicated and depressing state. Again, fret not.

There are, as usual, things that have been bothering me. My work for starters. I've got this lovely job, really. Wherever I go, work related, there are cars and bikes, nothing else, AND I work from home, so that implies that there's no traffucking, no silent judgments being passed by colleagues, no gossips to be heard etc etc. I have all the time in the world to be languid and better yet, I'm all alone at home in the day and we all know how much I love my alone time.

But, if there's one thing I learnt from my previous job, it is that I lack a bit of initiative. I was all quiet and subdued whilst in TOI and wasn't really forthcoming at any point of time. I'd do the job given to me, but I was never the one to prop my hand in the air and say "I'll do it" when it mattered, or even when it didn't. Working from home negates any real change I might have sought to bring. There's only so much initiative I can show staying miles away from my boss.

And, I've got enough time to finish my stories here, rewrite them over and over again, enough times to keep my nagging pedantic voice in the head satisfied. The saddest part of working from home if probably the fact that I have to make my own tea, I've never really liked the tea those machines spit out, so it's not all that bad I guess.

Bah! When will I stop whining?

Title courtesy: Woodstock by Joni Mitchell