I received a telephone call from a former work colleague this morning. Not an unusual occurrence. Usually our conversations are just that - idle everyday chats, but occasionally and today was one of those days he has to ring me about some old work matter. He knows that I hate having to discuss and more especially having to remember such things and I know that he only rings when he has to. That said it does upset what passes for my equilibrium.
Memories and thoughts surface and refuse to go away, the stomach churns, the pulse climbs, the headache starts, the brow furrows. Like many people, maybe even the majority, I never really enjoyed my working life and for the last ten years I positively despised it and myself for being a thrall to it. Maybe if I had been able to compartmentalise work and home and forget about work when not at work I would have been happier. This conjecture is however hypothetical because my nature does not permit of such a solution. Worry and pessimism stalked me throughout my career and it seems that I will never be free of their clammy grasp.
On days such as this I have to force my body into action and fight the desire to do absolutely nothing. My brain doesn't want to think and my body does not want to move. The physical jolt I determined upon was a session on my concept rower. I turned on the radio and settled into the palliative arms of exercise. The programme presenter was talking about the benefits of deep brain stimulation. It does not however cause you to forget.
I think that it was Mike Batt who said that the one item which he wanted to retain from his late mother's possessions was her pair of rose tinted glasses. A laudable wish for a womble.