I think I have probably successfully communicated the sense of my inordinate workload in recent blog posts, and if not, well that would be a good thing as everyone admires the stalwart type. Stiff upper lip, by Jove.
Either way, yes I’ve been a little busy and, as a result, consistently tired. Last night didn’t exactly help my cause. Today my eyes hurt.
Reason 1: Office Lock In
As the bells chimed midnight I realised I was clearly not going to finish the proposal on which I’d been attempting (and admirably failing) to gain closure.
Oh, speaking of bells, I’ll divert for one second here. I was speaking with dearest mother at 6pm Cambodian time yesterday, just when the Angelus rang out on her radio (it was mid-day there). She asked whether it brought back memories of home. I had no answer. On reflection, it vexed me as it always has, the enforced religious connotations it provokes indicate, to me, the continued hold the church maintains over the state, and hence it’s broadcasting bastion RTE.
Imagine if you will that RTE broadcast a Muslim prayer in order for us to face Mecca. Uproar. Is there any difference between the Angelus and that? One is bells, the other an enunciated prayer, but the significance is very similar. I believe the Angelus is there for the people of Ireland to reflect and pray for a minute at noon and 6pm. So yes, it vexes me that even in Cambodia I’m still exposed to the influence of Ireland’s Catholic Church, a church with no shortage of incredible controversy of late, yet still it holds its control.
Anyway, detour complete, where were we.
Ah yes, at the wee hour. I ventured forth outside the walls of my little office. The restaurant downstairs understandably quiet. To my surprise I realised that all had departed: customers, staff, and the goodly proprietor, my gracious landlord, Caspar. A quick phone call confirmed, I was indeed locked in.
I decided, in the spirit of the aforementioned stiffness of ones upper lip, to say tally ho and attack with renewed vigour the proposal. Freedom from my office imprisonment would arrive in due course.
Two hours later it did, by which time I was ‘in the zone’, so I stuck around for another 20 minutes to finalise things. I finally made it home close to three a.m.
Reason 2: Rathlin
On plonking my tired bones down on my bed I was greeted with a bleep from Rhodan (my phone). An instant message from a fellow Audio Terrorist.
Apparently my lack of physical presence in the country does not relieve me of my obligations when it comes to organising our yearly outing at Rathlin. A point which failed to surprise me as I had already allowed such thoughts to cross my mind.
It begged another question though. What am I doing? There’s been a vague thought that making it back to Ireland for Rathlin would be great, but I worry that on returning I’ll be broke and it will make sense to stay in Ireland for the foreseeable future. My journeying will be over.
But then, it’s Rathlin, my guaranteed yearly highlight. We work our bollox off and try to do something a little more ridiculous than the year before, and each year I feel more proud of what we can accomplish on a barren rock off the north coast of Ireland.
It’s April. Rathlin is August. Given my current workload I’ve got May, June, July. Hong Kong is on the cards. I also have an idea of my return to Ireland being circuitous, crossing the international date line and returning via Alaska, Vancouver, Toronto and New York. It’s just an idea though, and I hadn’t really thought about when it would occur.
As you can see, the whole instant messaging chat got my brain all befuddled and active. Result being no sleep til 4am for me.
So yeah. What was the point of this ramble?
I got to bed late? Possibly. I’m hoping it’s more that I needed to voice thoughts which, as a result of this late night, were troubling me. That would be vaguely better than me writing an essay to just say ‘Last night I didn’t get to be til 4am’, something which would sit better on Twitter. Someone, get me an editor!
P.S. My late meandering home did offer me the opportunity to witness four young western lads sitting outside the 24 hour mini-mart smoking spliffs and occasionally snorting what I assumed to be coke off the table at which they huddled.