Skip to main content

Arithmetic

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. 



Comments

Sultan said…
You need some dessert I think. A nice pie would be soothing.
Lisa Southard said…
Opted for a glass of wine. Soothed! :-)

Popular posts from this blog

Contact Pants Conundrum

There is weather today, I do note it: take a few moments to reckon the size of a cloud (big) and the frequency of rain (sporadic.) Centre of my interest though is a stack of magazines. Not the fashion kind. This is martial arts research. I'm not even sure what it is I'm looking for, but intuition calls loud. A range of old adverts skew some amusement. Contact pants, for example. Pants are not trousers where I come from. They are underwear. Professional contact pants: improved smirk value. But why would a person be likely to purchase a grappling hook and a lock pick set? For specialists and hobbyists only, the blurb assures. Guidance on the pheromone spray that attracts women against their better judgement? I doubt it works any more proficiently than the mysterious potion that defines your muscles while you sleep. But, then: I wonder is some sprayed on this paper? What was my intuition thinking, making this ghastly shout… Tea break time. There's a lot of words...

Back From The Future Blog Party

Another joint blog adventure- if you want to see who else said what the list of participants is here . The premise is this: 'You're up before dawn on a Saturday when the doorbell rings. You haven't brewed your coffee so you wonder if you imagined the sound. Plonking the half-filled carafe in the sink, you go to the front door and cautiously swing it open. No one there. As you cast your eyes to the ground, you see a parcel addressed to you ... from you. You scoop it up and haul it inside, sensing something legitimate despite the extreme oddness of the situation. Carefully, you pry it open. Inside is a shoebox -- sent from ten years in the future -- and it's filled with items you have sent yourself. What's in it?' Here's how I imagined it: Before dawn? Shadows outside, first forming. Sleep has gone, I don't know where. Coffee I can find. All the way from Machu Pichu, this fair-traded pack. Scissors are in the drawer, which ...

A Happy Kind Of Idiot

I am watching hazel leaves shimmy in a breeze, they are keeping time with the buzz of nettle stings that run from my fingertips to my elbows. It feels like I'm wearing gloves made of needles; why didn't I just wear gloves to clear the nettles from the raspberry hedge? But I like to know the plants, how they grow, how they smell, how they stain and sting, what bugs shelter in their leaves, what grubs and gastropods nestle at the roots. How the roots sneak under weedblocks, moon-pale, and over open ground where they are purplish, bullish.  I like the work to affect, I like interactive life.  It has a little pain and a lot of interest.  Not all the nettles are gone, of course, some must be left to house caterpillars, and they are a healthy vegetable for people too. Today’s crop is for compost though, to feed the soil, the miracle stuff from which this abundance grows. How could I not wish to be close to that?  At home I have a shower, scrub my sore hands- and still I sm...