It is an early morning luxury to want to get out of bed before the alarm clock sounds (normally at 6:00 a.m., heralded by the crashing sounds of CBC trying to cater to the younger generation), and then lounge about in pyjamas and bath robe in one's study, checking email and bank accounts, and sipping strong, black coffee, particularly during the week when the office holds nothing foreboding on the agenda which might otherwise contaminate such frivolity and carefree abandon. So often my withering body is crushed into the goose feathers by the mere thought of the ominous things which await me (regrettably a destiny which I fear will never evaporate as long as I am compelled to ply my trade for a living). Nonetheless I was animated in my endeavours this morning by the awakening reflections upon several of my Clients (not all charitable thoughts I might add). You see, there's the conundrum - I want to escape the preoccupation, but on the other hand it lights the fires under my feet. Some would be so generous as to suggest that employment gives one "purpose" in life, in fact a reason to get out of bed in the morning, though I'm more inclined to agree with the prosaic comment of Albert Camus' char that, aside from pondering the existential meaning of life, it would be a good idea to do something to pay the rent.
January, as my mother candidly observed yesterday on the telephone, is a shitty month. There's the whole denouement following Christmas and New Year's Eve. Even the streets last evening appeared unhappy. If the weather is at all gloomy, which it so regularly is, there's nothing but grey skies and greasy streets, everything mucked by salt residue and dirty snow. Who could possibly want to venture out-of-doors in that environment? It is not uncommon for my neighbours to comment, after a long winter, that they haven't seen us for months. Like little animals, we burrow ourselves into our lairs for the winter.
I noticed with dismay last evening in the grocery store that Easter paraphernalia have already begun to appear. The commercial rituals of religious holidays are relentless. Instead of measuring our lives in teaspoons, we merely clock the passage of time by the tacky displays of bunnies, turkeys or Santas. The masses are made to feel like minions on a treadmill of expenditure.