Tuesday
September 30, 1997
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I hate things to be mixed together. I don't like things that are indistinct. I like my flavours strong and straight up. I don't like dilusions, weak or insipid things. If I've got a light on I like it to burn bright and fierce. I like my music loud. I like to drive fast. I like things to be separate, in their own boxes. I like my food to keep in its own groups - no peas touching my potatoes please. Yet I love complexity. I love things to have many, imploding facets. I like things that swirl and spiral in on themselves. Complex concepts and thoughts. I like books that take an age to read and still leave you thinking. Yet I only ever have one book on my bedside table.

My partner is going away soon. For a work assignment in a far off part of this country. I am looking forward to this uncluttered time to come. Clothes, those foreign ones, moved aside, stored, taken or housed in their rightful places. Mail unopened until return, filed away for that time. My mail dealt with immediately, closed off. Washing machine loaded with familiar clothes, that I know about, that I can plan for, that I'm sure will be needed. Planning my own actions is hard enough without having to factor in an unkown. All the time. Relentlessly. This time of uncomplication, of clarity and of clear space will be a treasure. I look forward to it.

A friend spoke today of the satisfaction of a job well done. A job enjoyed and done well. I thought about it for a long while. This person is someone I see as eminently capable of so many things. Has an enviable collection of finely honed skills and abilities. Deploys them well too. Takes time to feel good about being able to approach a task, take it square on, consider it and then do it well. Be called upon by others, assister, trainer, encourager. A known quantity.

We share a deep down knowledge that when we do a job, we will do it well. We will execute it to conclusion and make sure that everything that requires doing is done. We know people will call on us, and we love the power of knowing we can say "Yes, I can do that", and we love a job well done.

I suppose it's part of being proud of yourself, it extends to a pride in your work. Work as a wider concept, not only that which we are gainfully employed to do, but anything which is a job of some sort. A task, a request, an errand, a fix, a patch - anything. It's a care, a dedication to a level of perfection and a level of completeness. We can't leave things undone.