It's almost the close of another year. Is it time to count the goals achieved, the goals not met, or agonise over the complete and utter lack of any visionary mission for self-amelioration? Or better/worse still, time to "set" new unreachable goals?
The 2015 "Executive" diary has already arrived. It's strictly for work engagements. Personal goals seem to be rather obscure; other than the mundane '"let's be happy and healthy" chorus.
A summary of 2014 would read something like this :
The 2015 "Executive" diary has already arrived. It's strictly for work engagements. Personal goals seem to be rather obscure; other than the mundane '"let's be happy and healthy" chorus.
A summary of 2014 would read something like this :
- January and February were dedicated to work.
- March, April, and May were a paper correction and work haze.
- June whizzed by, and I seem to have absolutely no memory of it.
- July, August, and September were work again. Very HARD work.
- October and November were a commingling of memory, desire and examination anxiety.
- December brought an examination adrenaline rush, and now there's more to be done on the academic and work front before the curtain falls.
Hmm...what else am I supposed to be/have done? Wife, mother, daughter, sister, daughter-in-law, friend/etc.?
I seem adrift like most of J.M. Coetzee's protagonists. A symbol whose sign is a disastrous amalgamation of undecipherable and completely arbitrary signifiers and signifieds.
I'm an insider/outsider. I'm the margin as well as the centre. A desiring machine which is chaotically grasping at conservative, and simultaneously emancipatory lines of flight.
Basically, I'm Antionio Gramsci's traditional intellectual flummoxed by rather organic predicaments.
Viola...history always repeats itself. I'm me. The end.
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2015 though is highly anticipated....as it should be. To misquote Coetzee, when one year sails, philosophise; the next seems rosier.
