So little time to write in here nowadays. Was thinking of a remark by a fellow soupster earlier this year - downtime is three ours doing laundry on Saturday afternoons. How did we get ourselves into this pickle? We live, on average, longer than our ancestors, but seem to have less time to think, reflect, be ourselves.
On the other hand, I am at times trapped in what seems a strange byway of time: mangagement seminars for . . . 'effective followership in teams'. Eight hours of people presenting content of a curriculum program in an eerily lit room with mock marble table tops and frosty air conditioning. I went outside during a coffee break to discover a rainstorm that our impermeable seminar-bunker had filtered out.
Have been taking public transport while my injured car is in the shop. Re-discover reading while travelling to work. More than halfway through a novel I am heartily enjoying. Saw one lawyer type woman with red hair reading the new Don Watson book 'Death Sentence', while a man in a large alterno-dude shirt reads the latest Quarterly Essay. There is hope in what people do with the interstitial time they wrest from work treadmills. Long live free time - wherever we find it.