The most terrible way to start working week is an early Monday’s morning presentation meeting. I’m totally convinced that when we train our management to manage, the same time we un-train them to eloquently get their point across. Or they’ve been all abducted by the aliens and can only speak alien’s language ever since. Today’s presentation removed last doubts about this. Personally I have a high level of boredom tolerance, but he lost me on the second slide…beside being on mission impossible trying to keep eyes opened enough to be unnoticed in their sleep, what else one can do to survive The Most Boring Meeting!?
Well, one can count bodies in the lecture room; count bodies in suits; count lights on the ceiling; count bold bodies; read the slides backwards (btw, do you know that you can read the word “level” both ways! I must’ve been REALLY bored, huh?); it was still half-presentation through, when I’ve run out of ideas and my next-seat had to poke me to prevent from leaning to his comfortable shoulder (for a nap, of course, what did you think of?!)…then I remembered old advice I’ve been given long time ago: when bored at meetings, imagine participants being…naked…[~giggles]…that did the trick and help me to survive to the coffee break…anyway, if you ever need to go to the Boring Meetings, my free advice: don’t do it on Monday mornings!
My new musical obsession of the last two weeks – the Phantom Of The Opera. It was the second DVD I’ve bought, when ordered the one I’ve missed to record some time ago…I’ve now finished audio-edit and transferred the songs into ipod, so that now I can drive to work accompanied with the conviniently meaningful to the occasion song Point Of No Return…
What are sentiments? Something that we keep holding on to? Things that used to be so valuable to us, yet we still let them go? Doesn’t make sense to the logical part of me…to let go for the sake of having sentimental moments after...an alternative for "having and the same time not having" ...yet I’m pathologically sentimental in some other sense... I can spend few hours just going through old photographs, stroke the faded images, shedding a tear, remembering those who’s gone long ago…actually, that was exactly what I’ve been doing yesterday’s afternoon…having ventured to the Forgotten Treasure Island of The Loft for the Christmas goodies box, I’ve dragged along a box with the old family pictures…don’t ask me what was the purpose – I just felt the impulse to look at them once again…sentimental I am…old photographs of relatives, friends, close and distant, the ones I’ve met and the ones I’ve never seen in my life…grand-grand dads…people whose blood runs in my veins, yet I don’t know who are they…old black&white pictures, pictures from as far as 1878…funny dresses…stranger’s faces…sentiments…and Margaret Clarkson’s spiritual poem
So send I you - to loneliness and longing,
With heart a-hungering for the loved and known;
Forsaking home and kindred, friend and dear one,
So send I you - to know My love alone…
And finally, to the scratching back Title of the entry…(bet you thought I’ve just put it up to get more hits). Scratched my back was not a request for a gentle massage, but simply telling you what I did. Again, in that famous Dark Loft of Endless Danger there was a moment when I said OUCH…in a very loud voice. And cried a little. In a way of a hysterical screaming. Because it did hurt. In a way like hell. But then I’ve got carried another way, away with other activities and forgot the fact that I was wounded by Unknown Pirate of The Loft. I remembered it very quickly at night when lied down on my back, because Somebody said loud OUCH again. It did hurt. Apparently, The Pirate peeled a skin sample off my back…good thing I can’t see it properly coz it is on my back, so I can happily pretend it never happened…and I never wrote such a bollocks in my diary...*
*this happened not because I wanted to write some random bollocks, but just because I am having an uncontrollable urge to spill out the excess of the words in my chatter glass…they simply don’t fit in anymore…so...keep clear unless you wish to get wet from the flush
maybe sometimes we need to talk a lot to stop us think a lot...
Well, one can count bodies in the lecture room; count bodies in suits; count lights on the ceiling; count bold bodies; read the slides backwards (btw, do you know that you can read the word “level” both ways! I must’ve been REALLY bored, huh?); it was still half-presentation through, when I’ve run out of ideas and my next-seat had to poke me to prevent from leaning to his comfortable shoulder (for a nap, of course, what did you think of?!)…then I remembered old advice I’ve been given long time ago: when bored at meetings, imagine participants being…naked…[~giggles]…that did the trick and help me to survive to the coffee break…anyway, if you ever need to go to the Boring Meetings, my free advice: don’t do it on Monday mornings!
My new musical obsession of the last two weeks – the Phantom Of The Opera. It was the second DVD I’ve bought, when ordered the one I’ve missed to record some time ago…I’ve now finished audio-edit and transferred the songs into ipod, so that now I can drive to work accompanied with the conviniently meaningful to the occasion song Point Of No Return…
What are sentiments? Something that we keep holding on to? Things that used to be so valuable to us, yet we still let them go? Doesn’t make sense to the logical part of me…to let go for the sake of having sentimental moments after...an alternative for "having and the same time not having" ...yet I’m pathologically sentimental in some other sense... I can spend few hours just going through old photographs, stroke the faded images, shedding a tear, remembering those who’s gone long ago…actually, that was exactly what I’ve been doing yesterday’s afternoon…having ventured to the Forgotten Treasure Island of The Loft for the Christmas goodies box, I’ve dragged along a box with the old family pictures…don’t ask me what was the purpose – I just felt the impulse to look at them once again…sentimental I am…old photographs of relatives, friends, close and distant, the ones I’ve met and the ones I’ve never seen in my life…grand-grand dads…people whose blood runs in my veins, yet I don’t know who are they…old black&white pictures, pictures from as far as 1878…funny dresses…stranger’s faces…sentiments…and Margaret Clarkson’s spiritual poem
So send I you - to loneliness and longing,
With heart a-hungering for the loved and known;
Forsaking home and kindred, friend and dear one,
So send I you - to know My love alone…
And finally, to the scratching back Title of the entry…(bet you thought I’ve just put it up to get more hits). Scratched my back was not a request for a gentle massage, but simply telling you what I did. Again, in that famous Dark Loft of Endless Danger there was a moment when I said OUCH…in a very loud voice. And cried a little. In a way of a hysterical screaming. Because it did hurt. In a way like hell. But then I’ve got carried another way, away with other activities and forgot the fact that I was wounded by Unknown Pirate of The Loft. I remembered it very quickly at night when lied down on my back, because Somebody said loud OUCH again. It did hurt. Apparently, The Pirate peeled a skin sample off my back…good thing I can’t see it properly coz it is on my back, so I can happily pretend it never happened…and I never wrote such a bollocks in my diary...*
*this happened not because I wanted to write some random bollocks, but just because I am having an uncontrollable urge to spill out the excess of the words in my chatter glass…they simply don’t fit in anymore…so...keep clear unless you wish to get wet from the flush
maybe sometimes we need to talk a lot to stop us think a lot...