I’d forgotten that genuine physical work, is HARD work. We’ve recently moved to a new house, which has necessitated my stepping out from behind an LCD, and disconnecting my tool of choice from my fingertips (keyboard, in case you’re slow!). I’ve had to strip wall paper (I know, I know, not hard), wash walls, dig ground, cut grass, sand things down, move furniture. I’m at the tip of the iceberg, or rather the tip of a very house-shaped iceberg clad in out-dated décor which requires modernising to ‘shabby-chique gastro pub’ standards. A hard task indeed.
It’s hard work. What I’m hoping is that someone in the know will pop up and say “hey, I think sitting in front of a computer, going to meetings, or running workshops is hard work”…but I doubt they will. There’s hard work then there’s hard work.
The future holds no prospect of my getting out of this manual-labour servitude, and with a demanding fiancé, who doesn’t allow the ‘almost’ standards I’m used to, I don’t know how I’ll survive.. My poor soft, supple fingers will be rough like sticks of wood. How I’ll be able to type coherent sentences I’ve no idea. I’m doomed. This May Be My Last Entry.