Going to Work

Now that I’m back at work I need some kind of motivation to keep me going there - other than the threat of being fired or having no income – which are certainly persuasive motivations - but when my inertia and apathy levels are high enough, it’s possible not even disgrace or poverty will get me going.

I need to investigate other options. In the past I’ve found cognitive therapy (the glass is half-full not half-empty, so get over it!) to be very helpful when things got difficult. And when I say “cognitive therapy”, I don’t mean that I went and saw a specialist who has a qualification and has spent years training in this area and thus knows a lot of stuff which I don’t – no, no, no! I, Effulgent13, genius by my own proclamation, got some books on cognitive therapy from the library and read them. And thus I was cured. Well…thus I was more able to cope with things. I employed appropriate philosophies for dealing with various challenging situations. For example, if someone, who is very angry with me, is yelling at me, I deal with this by pretending they don’t exist (I believe it was Descartes who said: "You're yelling at me, therefore you don't exist"). Occasionally, with a particularly loud person, it’s necessary to block out sensory channels – closing my eyes, blocking my ears with my hands, even calling out “Mary had a little lamb” (go lambs) repeatedly until the yelling stops.

So, now what I need is a work philosophy (not to be confused with a work ethic, ‘cos that will never happen) in which I can believe. I need to “think” my way to work. Here is what I’ve come up with:

I like to think of ‘having to go to work’ as being very similar to ‘having to vomit’. Perhaps it seems an odd analogy, and a little yucky, but I think it’s the right one. Let me explain. Sometimes, when I’m lying in bed feeling queasy, I realise, instinctively, that vomit is going to happen. I get a similar feeling when it’s time to go to work. There is nothing I can do to stop it. Maybe I try to dissuade the vomit ('work') from its expulsive trajectory using creative psychology and stomach control techniques. But these tactics are mostly futile because here it comes! So I have 2 options: I can either 1) get up and go to the bathroom (ie 'go to work') and deal with it, or 2) stay in bed (ie 'not go to work') and mess all over my pillow and pyjamas and sheets, and probably, any animals or humans with whom I share the bed.

I assume most (sensible) people would choose option 1, but it’s certainly possible there are some who would find option 2 more appealing – I haven’t completely ruled it out myself; what’s the harm in a little vomit anyway, it’ll dry.

So that’s it. That’s the philosophy I’m currently using to get me to go to work. Yep. My mastery of cognitive therapy is outstanding…effective… although…I have been pondering a slightly different tact…’going to work’ is like ‘going somewhere really fun and having the best time ever and eating ice-cream all day’…of course…too much ice-cream can make you queasy…

I apologize to anyone who was eating while reading this, and for my moroseness (which is not to be confused with ‘mooseness’). And, to make it all better, I offer this:

Jitterbug