Sunday, Sunday

Sunday morning. The sun is shining — a bright November day just about to begin. Too good to be true.
schreibtisch.jpgAnd so it was: On my desk there was still a pile of essays to be corrected, and it has only diminished by about half as I am writing now, so it’s going to be a late night. The longer I’m in this profession the more tedious this correcting part of it becomes. In the warm season it’s OK. At least I can take the pile and all my dictionaries and note-taking paper and pot of tea outside — work goes so much faster when you are sitting in the garden. But most of the year it is either too cold or too wet to do this. So before starting I took a photo. Like in a bad joke the sun illuminates just the decisive part of the desk, the disorder of which both reflects and enhances my unwillingness to occupy it.

Well I haven’t sat at my desk all day; after lunch went out with our youngest whom we had promised to go to the sea life center near the place where my parents live (as they are on holiday, we had promised to look after the plants and the fish in the pond while they are away). However, we never got to the fish. On our way we noticed that there was a riding tournament, so we stopped, got out of the car and looked at horses jumping over hurdles instead. With an immensely happy daughter — like all girls I know she is an ardent horse lover — we just about made it to my parents’ house and back for dinner.
Now with the kids safely in bed, I’m back at my desk, the test books nastily grinning at me. Unfortunately there is no way around them if I don’t want to risk a sleepless night.


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