I'm watching clips of the boiler room, in an an attempt to get in a better head-space for work. A future post will discuss what I have found to be intricacies of the term head-space
You know the fall mornings, when the bright, clear, cloudless blue sky beckons you outside. The dry leaves crackle and dance in the wind; a pleasant change from the wet and dreary overcast that all too often predominates the Kingston forecast. The dry air cuts your nose, and what had just seemed like a pleasant breeze suddenly negates any comfort your cardigan offered, seconds ago. It's a lot colder than it looked out.
It was on one such a morning that I learned an important lesson.
Like most Saturday mornings I dragged myself to Starbucks, and then my local campus library, despite my crippling hangover. I patrolled the first floor, looking for a spot at a table that looked "just-right." Or maybe that was just part of the ritual procrastination that punctuates such tedious visits. On my meander in search of the perfect place to put down my books I ran into Greg.
A sense of kindred warmth befell me when I saw him donning sunglasses, and a tuque, probably hiding a mat of hair. His right hand held an over-sized cup of coffee, mirroring my own. He cracked a huge smile and I asked him how he was. I don't remember his exact reply but it was way too positive for the parameters to realistically permit. I felt like an even bigger heap of trash when he told me how much time he had already logged. I immediately thought of my keener classmates working hard to push back my spot on the bell curve. I felt a call to action.
We turned to walk to the extra spot he had egregiously been taking up in the event someone like me might show up. He looked at me and said "I feel like shit."
"Really??" I replied, feeling much better about myself while simultaneously losing all my motivation.
"Fake it 'til you make it man."
We spent the rest of the day drinking coffee and eating bagels struggling to do menial work. Whatever, we graduated.