Lately I've been ill a lot, and consequently ended up spending lots of time staring into space, arranging and re-arranging various pieces of work in my head into increasingly scary action plans.
I have quite a lot to do, you see. There's the thesis. There's my fiction writing. And there's something Which Must Not Be Named, but alright, as you're curious I'll say it once and never say its name again. *motions for the readers to move their heads closer into the circle* Job search! (There. Now you know. My name is Haron, and I'm terrified of applying for jobs.)
Yeah, anyway. You'll be pleased to know (I think) that since my last update I haven't earned any new punishments. The draconian regime has been working (that's when I haven't been sneezing my nose off). Yet, it hasn't stopped me from peering at my work load with eyes wide open in terror. Instead of focusing on every day as it comes, I cower in front of the big picture.
And what do you know? Abel has come up with another cunning plan.
What I need, he decided, is to focus on small results. Every day.
And do you know how he's planning to make this happen?
From now on the default is that I'm getting a caning every weekday, at 6 o'clock. Unless my report manages to convince him that I've done enough during the day to merit a pardon.
We're starting on Thursday. This'll give me time to see off the remains of the disgusting cold, and to catch up a bit with mountains of neglected mail, blogging and, um, work.