…I mean, I plan to put together a big application for grad studies probably due in September. I have three books in the pipeline, only to edit and publish. (”only”…), a few projects to get rolling and a Blogpost That Refuse To Die. But I don’t feel like it. I’ve had so much monday today it’s ridiculous;I forgot my mobile phone at home on a day I really needed it, my coworker wrecked a cleaning trolley ramming it through a door to a lift (and completely mended it in a few minutes – never underestimate a cleaner), I managed to throw the bottle with disinfectant into a toilet (good thing I wear gloves), and crowned my efforts by removing a bag from a wastebin and then throwing the bin into the trash…

 

Mondays like this are best spent by not adding to the panic. Instead I’m rescheduling and moving items on my list of priorities. And working. Working gets you somewhere, wether it’s to the next toilet needing cleaning or to the finishing of a picture.

 

Incindentally, one of the reasons I’m applying for grad studies is that my current job makes me think too much about toilets. There are two toiletrooms at work completely without electricity. The handdriers don’t work, the lights are out and the only thing that makes one of the rooms usable is a window letting in daylight. Yet someone is desperate enough to use the other room, the one that gets pitch black as soon as you close the door. And she/he does it every day.

 

That’s a mystery my analytical brain leaps at like a hungry lion. The lifts behaves erratically, but it’s so easy to figure out the reason I chose to blame it on ghosts. (So, the door won’t open? Can’t be a malfunctioning mechanism, has to be the ghosts who don’t like me telling my coworker about ”the Canterville Ghost”.) Ghosts, at least, have some romance and mystery to them. During my cleaning hours I use four lifts and clean five to twenty toilets depending on my assigned area. That’s per day.

 

I like my job. It’s easy to spot the difference between before and after, the professors run away when you ask them too, and I get a paid four hour workout five days a week. But, and this is seriously troubling, it starts to affect my thoughts in ways I didn’t anticipated. They’re getting… porcelainy. If I’m not zealous about doing my project reasearch all my projects are going end up looking like they were thought up by a twelve year old with a foul mouth. Or I’m going to develop so intricate conspiracy theories about the bowel movements of Uppsala University staff, that the doctors on the asylum never find their way out of them.

 

So, for the sake of my coworkers and myself I should panic, at least a little bit, about my application. But a day when you throw a bin in the trash is a day you should be really picky about what you do.  I decided to stick with things I know works, and when I look at my notes I see that some of it will help me with the paperwork. A small win for me, an even smaller one for humankind, but a win nevertheless.