Oh, come on, you didn’t really think I’d tell you, did you?
I would if I could but I can’t. Or if I did, I’d have to shoot you.
The simple, all-encompassing, oh-so-tedious-and-boring reason is: work.
For those who don’t know by now, I am a senior(ish) civil servant in a broken civil service, and so while there are times when I could be fooled into thinking that what I do really matters, it really doesn’t. I’m like a really athletic hamster on a fairly stable wheel, so that when I’m running on it I can climb halfway, or even, on special occasions, three quarters of the way, to the top — but that just means the cycle to the bottom makes the floor of my tummy drop out.
I can’t share, by law and convention and colonial intention, the details of what my work is. (And no, I’m not in any secret service; know that everything public servants do is secret, unless otherwise instructed. Don’t ask.) But I can say that this week has been a particularly busy week on the hamster wheel.
I am taking vacation starting Monday. It’s a bad time, but hey. One of the perks of this job (you really need them — another one is a parking space whoo-hoo) is that you can accumulate your vacation time, but only until you’ve racked up fifteen weeks of it; then you have to take it or lose it. I found going into this year I had almost ten weeks of it, so I’ve been taking some every now and then. So tomorrow, I’m heading north to Montreal to see my soon-to-be one-year-old nephew, who’s morphed into a little boy somehow overnight (when I last saw him he looked like Tweety Bird, only not so yellow. Not a bad thing, in my opinion, as Tweety was my favourite Toon back in the day). I shall catch up on Hudgins over the week.
And on other reading, too, the audio book kind. Last year, Ondaatje; this year, Atwood and Eugenides.
I’ll report when I’m done.