First day back at work after two weeks of hibernation. It's dark, it's cold, and I want to be tucked up in bed. The bus pulls into the hospital terminal as usual. It's good to be back in a routine again, despite having a head full of cotton wool. The devil will find work for idle hands and all that. Not just idle hands but idle minds. I never realised until I reached middle age just how important work is. It is too easy to dream and fantasise about winning the lottery or marrying someone rich and having nothing to do but lie in bed and eat chocolate. But we must have a purpose in life, otherwise what is the point of existing? Is it purely to seek pleasure and happiness? Of what use is that? It is better to search for meaning, because happiness is only fleeting and cannot be sustained. Meaning, however, is the driver of our internal engines. It is what motivates us to go to work every day. Without meaningful work we are nothing but idlers and wasters.
We're here. I put my notebook away.
