Check

Like the passing of a comet through our tiny solar system, my blog posts come and well, don't come, as they please, largely dependent on whether the intellect behind them is in the mood to pen down a post, the state of his emotional well-being or whether he has ranked and prioritzed blogging as imperative over all other things currently within his wide-reaching purview.

Fortunately, this is one such time.

It's been almost three months since the kids left, leaving the office many degrees more silent, and very much colder. Without their energy and personalities to punctuate the drudgery of everyday work, the office is merely an empty construct, devoid of feeling, thought or emotion. It feels as if time had been reversed back to a year ago, when I first set foot on the gray carpeted floor and weaved through the labyrinth of faux wood furniture. I was alone then, and it feels like I'm alone now as well, especially if my only other colleague is manning the front desk.

Sometimes I wonder, how did I survive so long in this place, performing a whole assortment of tasks for a meager paycheck and to put myself through seemingly unnecessary turmoil and torture? I could have easily gone for a full-time degree programme, eradicating the need or feasibility of having a job. But who is going to pay for the car's petrol, ERP, road tax and other associated fees? Who is going to pay for the DSLR? Who is going to pay for my hobby expenditure?

No one, but myself.

I know myself well enough to understand that in order for me to not atrophy into dust by having too much free time on my hands, I have to be put through my paces and challenged, for activity and having stuff to do is the primary source of my being, my fuel if you will. Granted, at times I wish for nothing on my plate, but those periods are rare and fleeting.

Therefore, this work-school arrangement is most optimal for my current and future development, and is a model I will probably adopt to other scenarios if applicable.

On a side note, I thought of this new theory to characterize the process which always finds its way into my blog posts. I call it: the Germ Theory of Affection.

As with all diseases, it starts with a single germ, and this particular germ represents the YY-chromosomed individual who ventured into my system. The germ will be classified as the X-Strain, where X is the name of the individual. As the virus matures and multiplies, my systems start to falter, and eventually I succumb to the full might of the germ, laying my heart bare and ripe for the taking.

If the Strain is strong enough, it would succeed, otherwise, it would withdraw and go into remission. In the event that a particular Strain actually gains control of my heart, a team of specialists and experts will have to pull me from the brink of disaster, and I would have to fight tooth and nail to repress the condition myself. Generally, I would make it and see the next sunrise, but like all superviruses, each Strain will never be wholly obliterated from my systems, they will merely be in remission, awaiting the opportune moment to strike again.

Waiting for the moment to spring a devastating and unexpected relapse.

Even if the Strain isn't particularly damaging or developed, any form of assault on my systems is still considerable, and repeated action would quickly wear down any defenses raised and penetrate my shields. As for the more hi-level Strains, well, let's just say that all it takes is a single touch to take my life.

The Strain which had been in remission and suppression for the past year has awoken yesterday, but it is still weak, still reeling from the pressure put on it the last time it wreaked havoc. Nonetheless, it is now active, but I am biding my time, looking to see how this particular Strain will develop.

We shall see.

Feed the fish kids.