It's 6:45am and I'm sat in my makeshift office, on the early shift, waiting for "work things" to require my attention. It's too early to read, my brain isn't alert enough yet to concentrate enough on something that I would actually take it in and be able to digest it properly.

So, I turn to the keyboard instead noting that I only posted three times last week. I was writing, on and off, just nothing ready to be shared with the world. And that's okay.

It's been a crazy, manic, surreal few weeks; there's still lots to do (I finally managed to rebuild our wardrobe yesterday so can finish putting the bedroom back together over the next few days) not least the hunt for a new job. I've applied for one with another possibility to look at today but options based on my skillset and salary requirements are... limited. I'm not quite at a full-on panic stage but I feel myself getting close.

While there is a push for greater internal mobility at work it seems to be largely lip-service: just circulating a list of vacancies with strict requirements rather than being willing to invest in staff and train them. Those days seem gone forever, no one seems to have the time, money or patience to develop people any more, instead wanting the "finished article" on day one of a role. That's not what internal mobility means to me; to me it means looking for potential, for good fits and opportunities.

Maybe I've just got an old-fashioned or unrealistic view of things.

It's at times like this that I feel my age, feel like the people I complain about, stuck in a time long past and not understanding how the modern world works.

"Get with the times!"

I have the window open, the nearby traffic tuned out - nothing more than white noise now - and listen to the birds, only to realise/remember that they're actually part of the music I'm listening to: an ambient/environmental piece called "Spring". The traffic merges with the music creating a unity: inside and out fused together in a moment of beauty. I think to myself that this is what life should be about, not the hustle and bustle, not the stress and anxiety, but the beauty, the existence, the being.

And, just like that, it's 7:22 and I've only typed 400 words.

It's 400 more than I typed yesterday so I'll take it.

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