The familiarity is the worst part of it, and the daily routine is inspired in its flaws: Alarm at 7.15am, snooze till 8.00am, out the door by 8.30am for a 9am start. Arrive 9.10am. Mumble something about tube delays. Ignored by team mates. Turn on computer and begin. So far so good.
Glance down at desk. Glimpse yesterday's to-do list. Glance skywards, mentally checking temporal lobe region of brain for tasks that have yet to be committed to paper. Commit to paper. Errands, emails, world domination. A series of bullet points with no end. I mark them ‘done’ and more appear. What's the point. No respite from the digital either. My inbox, the other infinite to-do list in my life. Superior to it's paper version in that I can project this evil tool onto others - sending emails and ramping up the to-dos for faceless wonders. Have that. And that. Oh, there's something from Ed. Reply to Ed. Ha ha, Ed's too funny. Ed and I back and forth for 48 minutes.
It’s my own bloody fault. I'm a yes man. I say yes to things. Fart. Fart. Fart. Back to the workday script. New approach, I try culling the main herd by removing to-dos and recategorizing on separate piece of paper (read: microtasking). But therein lies the art - what to cull and how much time for this new list? What is now an acceptable deadline? Too short and my own foot is back on my throat. Too long and next thing I know I’ve drifted toward a giant rubberband ball destroying a car on YouTube. Ah YouTube, desk-jockey absenteeism. It's a question of prioritising, I suppose. I concede, my priorities are all wrong.
Weekends aren't much better: My Approach to Box Checking is a Cavalier One - Part 2.
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