|Allergic reaction to spreadsheets|
In spite of it being an elegant palindrome date; 21.5.12, in UK format; numbers are not my favourite contraptions today. Format has a lot to do with it. Attempting to finalise accounts on an excel spreadsheet grinds at my resolve to savour life, my nerves are visibly sparking. Resistance is expressed in most uncouth terminology. Swearing is one of a short list of things that differentiate private-me and public-me. I won’t be sharing these words but the braggart in me wants the world to know I am doing it impressively.
Escape to the bathroom, the unofficial sanctuary of the house, to pick up reading Wittgenstein.
‘The origin and the primitive form of the language-game is a reaction; only from this can the more complicated forms develop. Language- I want to say- is a refinement, “in the beginning was the deed.”
‘To smell a rat is ever so much easier than to trap it.’
It feels like the philosopher has rumbled my skiving. Guilty deductions: which brings us back to numbers; accounts in particular.
The spreadsheet is laid out, at a level of order that will be legible to the longsuffering accountant. It is dispatched by email and trapped in a pen drive. Bits of paper are boxed up; the query pile is prepped with post-its.
The morning is gone, we are at the palindrome’s midpoint. Validating sun appears over mist.
With cups of tea, outside where writing on the dazzling paper is a welcome challenge, Mr and me make a menu plan, followed by a shopping list. Three onions, one bag of flour, some bananas: one balancing sigh of relief.