The Tired of Tired

A Spell of Funk

The past few days have been meh! A total lack of interest or enthusiasm. The usually sunny and hot weather has done little to brighten any sense of existence. In bed last night, I felt the tired of tired, but I had to fight off that feeling. It was not healthy.

I had tried to engage in some activity, beginning with the Africa Day event on Saturday, which left me unimpressed. Then at church the following day, I read the notice for the Whit Walks on Monday and was promptly dissuaded from attending: the preacher invited to minister was lauded not for her ministry, but more for her celebrity and her appearance on Gogglebox. I do not care to remember her name.

A Surfeit of Bad News

It does not help that, with my radio tuned to a BBC news channel, the snippets of interesting stories came laced with a surfeit of depressing news. Abuses, infractions, illegalities, and criminality by those who should know better, yet who would neither be held to account nor held accountable by those who matter, the latter too afraid to take a moral stand for fear of the blowback.

At times, you would think you need a holiday from the world, to a place of peaceful reflection on the beauty around you that you almost always fail to see.

In Search of Tranquillity

On Monday, I did go into the country, hoping for that very escape, but the tranquillity and fun I had expected never quite arrived. Tuesday brought another attempt at engagement: a men's group billed as a dance session.

In practice, it was more body movement and the rather boring projection of closing our eyes and imagining silly things. The only genuine pleasure I drew from it was setting up the table for food.

It was at that group, too, that the broader sense of injustice came home in a far more personal way. A fellow attendee had been attacked, and his assailant had received only a light prison sentence. I could do little more than commiserate with him and offer a hug.

The Weight of Work

On the work front, which brings its own share of excitement, things have been somewhat depressing. There is no wherewithal to achieve; the hours like the deepest, longest night of a nightmare, failing to find a conclusion even as the day breaks.

Unease, dissatisfaction, lethargy, fatigue, and listlessness leave you in recoil from living to the full. Once again, I find myself striving to escape this state of funk, and I know it will pass; I just wish it would pass quicker than I can remember I was ever this disturbed.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

When Change Borrows the Lexicon of Grief

A Week of Lethargy

I would hate to admit to being lethargic, but there could be no other word to explain it. Last week, when returning from London, I bought a piece of rump steak and a salad, with the view to having it for supper.

That never happened. Each day as I returned home thinking I might cook, I was simply too tired to be bothered, so in most cases, I went to bed on an empty stomach and only got up quite late to take my pills.

When it comes to food, I enjoy cooking, and there are times when I do crave something different, but I never immediately act to fulfil that craving. It sits on my mind for a while until it is either dismissed as exhausting or I am compelled to act.

Steak, Finally

After more than a week, I took the steak out of the fridge, marinated it, and rather than tossing it in oil in a frying pan, I left the cooking to the air fryer. Soon it was done, wrapped in foil for five minutes, before I put it on a plate and served it with the salad.

I probably did not recover the sense of satisfaction that had greeted my initial intention and purchase, but I am glad it did not end up in the bin through disuse and spoilage.

Shifting Ground

Then, as I navigated the issues that needlessly occupy the mind in uncomfortable ways, I attended an all-hands meeting that dwelt on the future of work. It was the kind of situation where you feel the ground shifting under you as if you were experiencing an earthquake.

I was able to link this to another experience where, as a sitting tenant, my apartment was sold to a provincial carpetbagger who probably should not have been speculating in my city. Considering not much had changed in my apartment for a decade, I was receiving demands to meet rates relative to the area without any corresponding changes to the commodity.

Loving where I live and my neighbours, I have made adjustments and accommodations, but there are limits to acquiescing before it becomes untenable. A recent posting in my village would suggest I am paying over the odds.

A Contract in Flux

The shifting sands metaphor also applies to work. The services contract between my employer and the client is changing such that the functions I perform will transfer to another service provider, whilst my employer assumes an overarching responsibility between the client and all the engaged service providers.

I think my employer is somewhat conflicted, because they would lose personnel engagement but acquire a broader first line support profile, along with that control and interface between the service providers and the client. The question is whether I am transferred to a new service provider or retained to function with other clients.

Grief Is Not a Career Change

For me, that meeting was rather depressing, and it was not helped by someone in a top managerial role trying to be a psychologist, addressing issues of fundamental change to career trajectories.

For someone who has studied and traversed the Five Stages of Grief with respect to two life-threatening episodes of cancer, the last thing I expected was to recognise those words adapted into a philosophy of change at work.

The intent was commendable, but I do not think due consideration was given to the effect such associations would have on the attendees. Changing jobs or having employment contracts change whilst retaining the same role can never equate to any stage of grief of the kind I had experienced.

It was almost as if she were having a laugh whilst trying to be empathetic and serious.

In the end, I was unimpressed and totally nonchalant, even as the burden of other concerns, including health challenges, became a lexicon of daily struggles seeking ascendancy over better stories and good living.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

And so he blogs daily

Without much conniption

It can be so easy to rest on one’s laurels, then, maybe having a rest to reassess what new laurels to pursue is a good thing too. However, it was gratifying this weekend to read an interaction with a published author and a great social media following that my blogging had inspired him to blog daily.

What a lament that caused me, even as I appreciated that the little I do inspires others. Writing daily can be a goal, and it is not the absence of things to write about that is the problem. When it comes to blogs, there is enough muscle memory to start and go without the encumbrance of writer’s block; the problem is more one of lethargy.

Creativity is sacrosanct

Beyond lethargy, you wonder if it is worthwhile just banging out anything. The advent of Generative AI provides such an opportunity to manufacture offal without attendant rumination or thought, but God forfend I resign my creativity to the cutting floor of prompt engineering. I have other uses of Generative AI; it won’t be for my blogs.

One key detail in my interlocutor’s comment was that he wrote a blog daily, regardless of the length of the blog. I know a few people who if they stop overthinking their copy and simply proofread the blogs in draft, they might rise to publishing at least once a month rather than every five or so months. I’ll be circumspect and not mention names.

It speaks for itself

I do wish I could blog daily, and I have done before. What saddens me is the many who blogged over a decade ago that have abandoned this theatre of sharing ideas for all sorts of reasons. The Internet rarely forgets as you stumble over crumbling tombstones of their once commendable activities.

The way social media works, you are either doing it because you enjoy it for your own leisure, or you are farming engagement to eventually gain some pecuniary benefit. I enjoy this stuff, and what would not happen is an upstart magazine inviting me to write for them and then sending me a style guide to conform to their way of thinking. I try not to take it as an insult.

I do it my way

On my blog, I have my own space, set my own rules, and after sampling a few of my blogs in all that time, it is impossible to gauge how I write, it is unlikely you will like my style, and we shouldn't waste each other’s time. Thank you.

Then one final note of gratitude to my readers and those that have been inspired in a small or large way by what I do.

Photons on the Prostate - II

Buses and stresses

As I prepared for my rescheduled second course of radiotherapy, as it was later in the day I could get other things done. I had reckoned I should schedule an hour before the appointment for preparation and travel to get to my appointment on time, which might need a review.

On a bus journey that is normally 29 minutes, I alighted from the bus 50 minutes after I boarded it, rush hour traffic amongst other issues. I hate getting so worked up going to the hospital, even the thought of arriving late affects my blood pressure, thankfully, that is not being measured for radiotherapy.

Suited for the suite

On arrival, I was passed from one reception to another, the one that manages the suite where radiotherapy is delivered. They give you another day’s appointment, each visit so that you have 5 in hand.

The radiographer came out to ask if I had done the micro-enema, which I had done at home as the Shit-on-Demand thing was just not working with me. However, to fulfil all righteousness, I went to the toilet and managed to empty my bladder.

When I was called into the suite, the standard formalities of confirming who I am ensued, these were the same radiographers I had seen the day before, and the music playing was Otis Redding’s Sitting on the dock of the bay, as I pulled down my trousers and lay on the hard bed to be positioned for alignment with the green laser beams.

Zap and dap

A few adjustments later, they left me in the room to remotely set off the imaging before targeting the photon beam. In the waiting room, I saw two commemorations of donors of equipment to the radiotherapy department. The kit used to deliver radiotherapy was the Elekta Synergy linear accelerator, first launched in 2002. [Elekta: Important Turns in the history of the company 1994-2005][Radiology Oncology Systems: Elekta Linear Accelerators* Comparison Chart]

It does everything you need it to do and from a table of comparisons, it is a workhorse with very few cons. Within 15 minutes, the deed was done, and I was dressing up to return home.

I had a takeaway last night, but I am still struggling with my appetite for food, I am not fatigued but feel lethargic, and I might need some help around the house. I hope tomorrow, I have the strength to steward at the Cathedral, that’s 2 down and 18 to go. Monday for the next, I might steal a sip of sparkling water before the end of today.

Blog - Photons on the Prostate - III

Blog - Photons on the Prostate - I

Blog - Men's things

Stuck on unpacked

Stood still at stop

Three weeks after returning from Cape Town, I cannot say I have settled down or acclimatised in any way. The four suitcases that I brought back from my travels remain unpacked in my living room as my mind is already contemplating the next time I can be out there again to be with my fiancé.

The weather here at home, though mild has taken a turn for the dreadfully depressing worse, as it is getting colder and taking on the characteristically disreputable signature of rainy Manchester. Good for farmers and no one else.

As I look for sorts of distraction that I have not quite found in enthusiasm at work, I have been baking bread modifying the recipes to get better outcomes, though I should extend my baking repertoire to attempting other exciting baked goods.

Urge for a surge

My truth-telling weighing scales displays numbers that has me looking for consistently sure ways of shedding the pounds and keeping that bulk off without having to radically change my diet. Beyond that trouble is the need for a kickstart of engagement, something that reignites the quest, the curiosity, and the joy of learning that I cannot seem to begin to interest myself with any aplomb. It requires discipline and consistency as much as I need to be enthused.

Brian is my constant source of encouragement and light as Kola is the most unstinting confidante, I know it would all come good. I just need to weather the storm.

Humans with finite mental energy

We lose virtue in helping

The woman with the issue of blood decided that her healing lay in touching the garments of Jesus Christ. However, Jesus Christ with all the miracles he had performed in that situation revealed that in human form we are limited and resources or energy to do anything is not inexhaustible. For as the woman touched him as he was thronged upon, her touch drew virtue out of him and healed her, he felt that drain and so asked who touched me? [BibleGateway: Luke 8:43-48]

Human capacity is quite limited much as is mental energy. We are affected just as much as the other person by the vicissitudes of life, our frailty and vulnerabilities too easily exposed by circumstances that appear to be beyond our control.

Ceding what can’t be controlled

We probably can account for how we react to situations, how others react towards us is not something under our control. You find that those who portend to have some sort of mental toughness have just been able to know what they can control and concentrated their resources on those things without agonising about the things beyond one's ability to conduct, sway, or persuade.

In an unkind word, a needy subject, a crude comment, a bad decision, an unfulfilled desire, a crisis of confidence, a moment of self-doubt, or the absence of consideration from others, you are left bereft of capacity. In finding ways to deal with these things you find some balance, but it can be long in reaching it. Some might read it as irritation when it is just exhaustion.

Someone to lean on

We all need some sort of refuelling, positive people who lift your spirits, exciting news of developments, encouragement from near and far, maybe some intimacy and human touch. We live in tough times that those who have company are usually unaware of their advantages where those along have to contend with lack of awareness.

Basically, the truth is, we probably all need therapy, some is reparative, some is restorative, and it does not need mental illness to require it, it is just that you don’t want to be running on empty when there is some supply about. We all need someone to lean on, yet that someone may not be available when needed.

Thing that can restore strength

I believe Jesus had much of his virtue restored when the woman came forward narrated her ordeal along with the miracle wrought in her body. A form of affirmation and validation, an apology or a sense of gratitude, some consideration and giving space, the list itself is not exhaustive.

Had she not stepped forward but disappeared into the crowd with the gift of healing she had acquired, Jesus might have agonised about who touched him, wondering what the virtue drained had done and have taken a much longer time to come to terms with the turmoil of not knowing whilst knowing something had happened.

His disciples would have thought he had become touchy and pernickety, but meaningfulness came to bear on the situation, a miracle was recorded in the Gospel according to Saint Luke because of that.

Lethargy is hardly fun

Whatever happened to the fun?
 
I can only wonder what has become of my blogging enthusiasm. There has been so much to write about in August but I could not be inspired to do much.

In the end, my blogs hardly touched double figures, I am not happy about that.

In some ways, there was lethargy, a great distraction from other goals brought on my blog hosting company’s decision to close shop in January 2012.

It might seem a long way away but when I see the footprint I have with my old http://akin.blog-city.com blog, it would take a while for the traffic that went there to move elsewhere.

The wheelbarrow needs oiling

Meanwhile, I am almost exhausted with moving each brick of my Great Wall of China blog, there are just over a thousand blogs to move, surely, there must be an easier way of getting my RSS version 2.0 blogs to Blogger’s Atom 1.0 XML format imports.
 
It is amazing that Google has created such a closed system that is it unwieldy to backup their blogs, because there are no selections, it backs up the whole thing and the imports primarily handle Google stuff.

It probably has not occurred to them that there might just be someone who wants to migrate to Blogger too.

It’s here now

However, one must begin to establish the presence of http://akinblog.nl (NL because I live in the Netherlands) I might take up a .com name but that I think would be for something else.

Let’s hope September gets my fingers tapping as those funny thoughts come racing to my fingertips long before I’ve had time to wonder, did I write that?