4pm and on. Kids with scooters in the streets - the old-fashioned wooden ones that seem to perfectly match the age of the facades and roads of this neighbourhood. A special kind of noise, distracting but not disturbing. Asides this: Still in between everything - tasks, moods, seasons, hours of day. Still trying to navigate vast dumps of data, restarting essential pieces for the third time in a row as things break and fall apart again and again. It's a matter of learning despite being short on time. And it always feels like an imposter lost in a library of books all written in Latin again.
10am and on. Consciously tracking time, to figure out where the minutes went that apparently passed ever since this morning but somehow feel missing. Incoming calls, outbound messages, pivoting to asynchronous communication wherever possible. Interrupt handling, as another art easy to teach yet hard to master.
Kurze Pause, Joghurt statt Kuchen. Viel zu spät aus dem Fokus aufgeschreckt, sich das Genick reibend und vorsichtig sondierend, inwieweit der Körper nach Stunden in nahezu unveränderter Position noch zu weitergehenden Bewegungen imstande ist. Mit wenig erfreulichen, aber auch wenig überraschenden Resultaten. Blaubunte Stapel im Kalender mustern, und überlegen, welche Erinnerungen zu welchem der Blöcke bleiben, die die helle Linie schon überstrichen hat auf ihrem Weg in den Nachmittag. Unten rangieren Paketboten um einen größeren Lkw, der Mobiliar und Kisten ablädt. (Die Sonnenschirme vor der Kneipe wirken etwas bleicher mit jeder Woche, die verstreicht. Aber zumindest bieten sie raren Schatten in der Hitze des Moments.)
Almost 9am. When it comes to time estimates, predictions usually are trashed by reality. Long-running processes, too much information generated all along the way, but no way to restart without waiting even longer. A sigh and a sip of coffee. Too: Watching neighbours hide their windows behind tin foil. And other individual strategies to counter sun and heat.
Neu verbinden. Einen anderen Faden aufnehmen. Lesen. Augen reiben. Bis die Gedanken wieder Anschluss gefunden haben und der Kontext Sinn zu ergeben beginnt. Mechanische Handgriffe, in den Lücken, die der Geschäftsbetrieb bietet. Prozess ringt gegen Wärme, Sicherheit reibt sich an brüchiger Konzentration. Bis die Graphen alle zurück in den grünen Bereich wechseln. Durchatmen. Pflaumenkuchen. Pause am Gerät, nicht vom Gerät. Wind in den Jalousien, Lichtpunkte malen unverständliche Codes auf nackte Wand. (Sich an die Poster erinnern, die hier hängen sollten, seit schon fast zwei Jahren. Mentale Aufgabenlisten umräumen, Wasser auffüllen, Ordnung und Struktur schaffen, hinter der sich vieles verstecken lässt. Schwerfällig stapft der Mittwoch voran.)
10am and on. Conversations, in the backyard, loud enough to be annoying. Janitor and his crowd are pushing for what seems early autumn cleanup, and setting stage and assigning tasks to people quietly reluctant to work apparently is an important part of this. (Also, missing the heron that woke up on the roof once in a while, most of last summer. Maybe that's because fishes became scarce in the small artificial pond. Or maybe they're just hiding from the sun.)
9am and on. Written conversations, like an endless thread of nested e-mails and attached meeting minutes, contradictory and ambiguous in itself, forwarded again and again from one node to another, until finally landing on the desk of someone who can't throw this anywhere else. Torn between awareness of confidential data and using the model to conclude all that mess. Rather, taking a deep breath, having another sip of coffee. Watching the trees in front of the blue. And cautiously stepping ahead.
3pm and on. Ephemeral duties. Trivial everyday chores. Things that suddenly float by and beg for attention, while everything else is moving at common speed. Also: Tracking what's been done, not completely happy yet not too dissatisfied either. A weekly resume, a list of hours, a list of things to catch up. And still just little wind in a hot late summer day.