Considering that I slept last night, I am damn tired today…

I’m in the process of buttoning down assignments and such before I disappear into the Vicodin sunset. (Mmmm…Vicodin…) Lots to do, but at the same time I’m weirdly detached from the prospect of coming back to work.

In general, I like my job; there are times I love it. But lately, I’ve been so…bored. Not in the “God, this is the worst and most inane job in the world” sense; it’s more a case of not being surprised by much anymore. It’s hard to maintain my sense of wonder at the mysteries of human behavior when there are so few here.

That may sound a little supercilious, and I don’t mean it to be. I just mean that given predictable situations (poor management, cultural monotony, interpersonal conflicts based on all the traditional sources of office politics — you get the picture), you can pretty much guess how the players will respond. And of course, it leads into you giving much the same response every time. You stop listening. And that’s wrong.

I love listening to people. At poetry readings, I close my eyes and listen to pretty much everyone (needless to say, I’m not one of those who is impressed by good blocking). Granted, not every poem is worth listening to, but I like to think that every person is. I’m not perfect at it; I sometimes zone or snark out on a given piece; but it’s what I strive for.

It gets entirely too tiring at times to fell like you don’t have to listen. To believe, rightly or wrongly, that you’ve heard it all is to force yourself into a constantly reactive mode. If you are not listening, you must be talking or preparing to talk.

Maybe three weeks away will be good for me. Maybe I’ll come back ready to listen once again.