The Spell Of Total Enlightenment

It's been a weird few weeks. On March 30th I left my job as corporate lickspittle to wander the earth and have adventures. I had been with the company for almost twenty years and I can honestly say that I hated pretty much all of my time there, except for the parts that were merely dull.

Anyway, they turned me loose with a warm but insincere handshake and a severance package which will allow me to sit around for a year or two with my thumb up my arse should I so wish. Then I'll have to either get a job or start selling body parts. (Somebody else's body parts, obviously.)

Sooz and I went on a week's holiday in Derbyshire to help with the transition, and did a lot of walking, eating, drinking and sleeping. On my return I went into my study on Monday morning, turned on the computer and Wondered What To Do Next. Then I Went A Bit Nuts.

The problem was, I think, that while I was at work I was gainfully but pointlessly employed in an environment which, although not in the same league as being an air traffic controller or neurosurgeon when it comes to stress levels, was still fraught enough to fill my head up with Work Stuff, so all the Other Stuff I should have been thinking about could be pushed to one side during the day. In the evening I had the excuse of having had a hard day making a living to allow me to avoid thinking about the Other Stuff then, too.

So, with no Work Stuff to worry about I was visited by The Spell Of Total Enlightenment, and I started trying to think about all the Other Stuff at once. On Monday I thought about: making a will, changing my mortgage to another lender, taking out life insurance, registering with the Job Centre, calling my pension company, setting up a meeting with a financial advisor, booking a service for my car, booking an MOT for my car, selling my car, contacting charity organisations to see if they wanted any volunteers, buying a new desk for my office, getting the parts to fix the shower door, booking a holiday in Durham, booking a flight to Ireland, checking out training courses and finding a new job.

And, of course, trying to read, research and do some writing, which was the point of leaving my job in the first place.

After an hour or so I wound up in the corner of the study with the wastepaper basket on my head, singing the chorus of "Don't Touch Me There" by The Tubes. Then I calmed down, and made a list.

Three weeks later, I've crossed a few things off the list and added a few more, and I'm pretty much back in control. My days seem extraordinarily full, and not as structured as I'd like, but I'm making progress of a kind.