The saddest thing I can imagine is to get used to luxury.

If I could bottle a wave… Opossum Bay, January 2011.

I sometimes wonder about people. For example, I know somebody who expends an awful lot of time and energy ‘pretending’ to do their job. They sweat at it. It seems to trouble them no end. Elaborate and exaggerated flourishes are performed to ensure that everybody around is aware that they’re ‘hard at work’.

It does seem like hard work. I think that it could well be bringing on an ulcer.

What I don’t understand is if such effort, such exertion is required, and it’s carried like a huge weight upon the shoulders, why not actually do the job?

It’s a novel thought, I know. Radical, even.

I wish that I could overcome the (mutual) embarrassment and suggest it. I suspect that truly ‘doing the job’ would be far easier than the task of ‘pretending’ to do the job.

Comments

Dianne said…

Well said ~ I think if I ever got used to luxury I would fear the loosing of it~ I'd fear I would loose my coping skills, my props - I would become soft and lazy and unchallenged and dare I say it boring!!
"Adelaide and Beyond'

15 February 2011 at 09:43

Kris McCracken said…

Dianne, there are actually a few I see who seem to suffer from this.

Then there are those who simply no longer to bother trying to look busy.

15 February 2011 at 11:07

Roddy said…

You know, I have worked with people who spend an inordinate amount of time dodging work and then spend the rest of the day telling you how hard they have done it.
Me, I have made an art of looking busy no matter how little I have to do.

15 February 2011 at 21:08

Carola said…

Great photo and this titel is realy good.

16 February 2011 at 07:22

Kris McCracken said…

Roddy, then you're as bad as they are!

Carola, that was Charlie Chaplin. The quote, not the photo. The photo is mine.

16 February 2011 at 08:20

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral...

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke...

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.

This will hurt me...

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