The last few days have not been about me. They have not concerned my thoughts. Nor have I created anything for myself save for a few words scribbled into my diary. Some of those appeared here.
No, it's been all about the bid that I have been producing at work. That task - a hundred pages, more or less, of text and tables - has crept upon my life enveloping all. Time has been harnessed, and creativity. It has absorbed all energy until I seemed to do little but serve that task.
It used to be like that too. Only then the task concerned keeping a herd of horses fed.
That, too, was a struggle. Just one that left my body tired and mind free.
Now it's the other way around: mind exhausted but body in need of more activity. It's not two dozen horses that take all my energy but the filling of some sheets of paper. Expressing the task that way minimises the culmination of a half year of effort. What I've written is turning out well. It should do: it's the culmination of much thought and toil.
I wrote that back in Transylvania my mind was free whilst my body was tired. In fact now I wonder just what I thought about. Mainly work and how to make it pay enough to eke a living. For all that rusticity and natural beauty, for all the miles on wild trails, no great work emerged. The Edward Thomas or Richard Jeffreys in me simply did not emerge. Too much energy was sapped by mere survival to enjoy that rare freedom: to create. I've created more for me, more personal writings, deeper thoughts too against the backdrop of a busy job.
Life does play some strange tricks on us.
Meanwhile the bid report will be submitted in 1 December. I can hardly wait.
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