At work on a Sunday

It’s not because I am such an industrious worker. Most of the time I am not. My views with regard to work have changed countless of times. They’ve flowed and ebbed depending on the fulfillment and financial reward I derive from them. I could spring to as high as not expecting remuneration so long as the toil gives me some feeling of ebullience and satisfaction for having helped others, or I could neap to as low as counting every minute of it and not working beyond the final minute knowing that I am not anymore paid for it. Work has become so perfunctory (has it never been?) that I often dread going to work. There are rare occasions, however, that I regain my long-lost insouciance toward work. Sadly, I am not very consistent in keeping it that way.

Today, I left home at 7:15 for my make-up work from 8:00-12:00. That’s a failure to keep the Sabbath Day holy, the fourth commandment in the Decalogue. But the issue whether the real Sabbath is Sunday or Saturday is still being debated. Until the time Christians have settled the matter, I won’t feel contrite working on a Sunday (or Saturday).

It’s a downward journey, I hear most people say. Once one has given up his Sunday for work, he’ll have very few excuses not to give up his evenings, holidays, even those precious moments with people dear to him.

On and on

This site had been abandoned for a time. Of course, I will begin writing about same old reasons for my absence–I got work; I was very busy; I could not find time to write; I got nothing to write about. The first three, of course were true. The last one wasn’t. So many things were happening that I barely had time to be still and write about them. It was like stopping to reflect on them and penciling my ideas into what previously had been a blank screen on my computer would make the experience less real.

Often, as my experiences these days taught me, resting waters down the effect; it dilutes. So I went on, and on because I knew that there was so much that gets lost in thought and writing.