The Comfort Zone

I'm sitting in an after hours work event. We've had the speech and the presentation and now the guest speaker comes on.
It's Sally Gunnell and she talks about how she won an Olympic gold medal. She's a good speaker. She keeps it short and general enough for it to be relevant to us men in suits.
'Do what you are good at,' she says, 'what you love.'
I shift in my seat. I'm wondering how many people in the room are doing what they love.
'Work at it,' she says, 'get out of your comfort zone.'
My comfort zone is sitting on the sofa in my underwear eating peanuts and watching Battlestar Galactica. But I don't think she means that, I think she means when you just tick over, when there is no risk, when you confuse boredom with security.
She passes around her gold medal. I hold it in my hand, entranced, an actual gold medal, a solid sign of achievement.
Maybe I should get out of my comfort zone. Maybe I could head south of the river, I hear there's more risk down there.

I'm In Love With The Girl From The Chocolate Shop

I walk past most days and often when I look through the window she is there.
Sometimes she is behind the till, but sometimes she is right at the window, dipping strawberries in chocolate. It's an upmarket chocolate shop, let's be clear; it's not a newsagent, it's not like she's selling Curly Wurlys.
The other day we made eye contact, through the window, there was no reaction on her part, there was no reason there should be, I'm just one of a million faces walking past. But fleetingly, her dark eyes locked on mine and I felt a chill.
Once upon a morning, coming out of the tube, I was walking behind a girl in the street who struck me by her style and confident walk. I lost her in the crowd then saw her again as we neared the shop and I thought, 'Of course, it's her' and, of course, it was her.
I should go in and buy something. I should go in and make conversation. I should... but the thing is that I don't really like chocolate. Maybe I could go in and ask for strawberries without chocolate. Maybe better to just leave it a while and play hard to get.

Altered States

So I'm back at work and straight into a series of meetings.
General anaesthesia is a state of unconsciousness, amnesia and analgesia induced in patients ahead of an operation.
And I'm finding it hard to switch back into work mode.
Analgesia is the absence of a sense of pain, although for a moment I thought the doctor was talking about an Arabic language news station.
As the meetings progress, my mind switches off.
There are different stages to anaesthesia as you slip more and more into unconsciousness.
As my mind switches off, my body relaxes and my mouth feels dry.
After the patient is unconscious and the body has relaxed then surgery can begin.
I sit back in my chair and let the discussions wash over me.
Anaesthesia concludes with a pain-free awakening in a monitored environment.
The meetings end and I stagger back to my desk. Boy, was that painful.

The Doors Of Perception

Some moments in life attract clarity.
In these moments, the daily clutter and distractions disappear leaving you to see things as they really are. You are suddenly able to see through the cosmetic and the trivial, through to the core, to the truth. These moments are rare, they typically occur at times of great anguish or joy. These moments let you see how fragile it all is, how precious it all is, and how insulated you normally are from your own life. They let you see, as Seneca said, that ‘the part you live of life is actually very small’…
I had one of these moments in hospital. I got scared about the operation and clarity hit me like a torch shone in my eyes. Fortunately there was a TV in the room so I could watch America’s Next Top Model and shake it off. But it was a close call, I mean life is hard enough without bloody clarity adding to the stress and anxieties that I already endure on a daily basis.

Not My Idea Of Fun

I’m back.
I’m not new or improved, I’m just patched up, ready to carry on for a while longer.
There are stitches inside my body. Sometimes it hurts when I move. Sometimes I bleed. I don’t know if the stitches are made of barbed wire but sometimes it feels like it.
So now I’m popping painkillers and thinking how unimportant so many many things are.
And, you know, the most painful part of it all -after all the sweat, the snot, the spit, and the blood- was that I had no one special to fucking hold my hand.
That’s a lie, the most painful part was the pain itself. Besides, maybe it’s better there was no one around to hear me screaming like a little girl.
Keep healthy.

A World Of Hurt

Dear Reader(s),

I've had a niggling pain that just won't go away so I'm going under the knife.
The doctor says it is routine so hopefully I won't be entering a world of hurt but, either way, I'll be off-line for a short while.
Thanks for reading. I've had fun writing this stuff and I hope you've enjoyed it too. There's not many of you but it seems you come back...
Feel free to leave any comments/suggestions/criticisms while I'm away and I'll pick 'em up when I'm back on my feet.

See you on the other side,
Sebastian

Boiling Frog Syndrome

I was thinking about the boiling frog anecdote the other day.
You know, that apocryphal story that if you drop a frog in boiling water it will jump out, but if you place it in cold water and then turn the heat up slowly it will float there until it boils to death.
I was thinking about the metaphor, about how one day you turn around and find a big pile of crap because you didn't notice it building up and you think Jesus, how did that crap happen? in the same way the frog might go Jesus, is it me or is it hot in here?
I was thinking that the crap is happening.
To be honest, the initial reason I thought about it was that I was in a bar and saw this hot French girl but that's just the way my mind works.