Sunday, January 29, 2006

The Makers Make 

The power of good art is it’s ability to make you miserable for days or even weeks after witnessing it. Thanks a bunch.

On Friday Stella, my eighties style yuppie witch of a team leader, sat on my desk juggling my balls and said, “You’re quiet today, Tim. What are you thinking about?”
“Happiness squandered,” I said. “Potential unrealised. Unfulfillment.”
“God, tell me about it,” she replied. “When I was a kid I thought I’d be married and ruling the world by now.”
“That’s a blessing,” I said.

I’ve been teaching her how to juggle and she’s getting pretty good. She did this weird reversal trick which kind of threw me. It wasn’t like her.
She said “How do you eat an elephant? A whole elephant?”

I couldn’t think of anything to say. Neil, my former team leader, ran down the corridor, herded by a pair of sheepdogs.
“It would seem that I’m popping out, erm, somewhere,” he yelped. “Can I fetch anybody anything?”
“Not for me, thanks,” I said, knowing he wouldn’t hear me. “I’m trying to cut back.” They were already scampering across the car park.

“In small chunks,” said Stella, putting my balls back. “Bit by bit. You take on too much at once and you just panic.”
“Six days on,” I grumbled, “and I still can’t shake off sodding Brokeback ‘gay cowboys eating pudding’ Mountain.” She wandered off and I returned to drizzling yoghurt over my expenses forms.

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