Seems like only ten years since I turned forty. I still have my health, have never stayed overnight in a hospital and have never broken a bone. The worst physical ailment I’ve ever suffered really has been a bad dose of flu, and not the proper flu that news editors every other summer season would have us believe will wipe us all out. Although I have a theory that I may have had a mild dose of pig flu the summer before last. I don’t have any back problems, but I do get very uncomfortable sitting in hard chairs for more than about half an hour. Which is one of the reasons I find that whole middle class thing of sitting at a dining table for hours after the meal has finished a bit of an endurance test. I guess I’m easily bored.
This post so far contains multiple instances of the pronoun “I”, something traditionally criticised in applications for teaching jobs because it potentially displays an approach that may not be particularly collegiate. It’s all about me.
All that’s really being indicated here is that one is grateful to have made it thus far. My best work is still ahead. If I had been Keats I would have done my best work in my twenties and been dead for the past twenty-four years. If I had been Joyce I would be well into the process of drinking myself into an early grave, my best work behind me.
Today I finish work at 12.15. The extent to which I’m currently part time is 0.92 of a full timetable. Next academic year my half day in Friday. Jurassic actual Park.