Aside from work, I tend to work. I'm currently trying to organise a varied array of bits and pieces for my return to New Zealand including marketing, media and merchandise for the New Zealand Ice Hockey League and everything that goes along with having a show in the New Zealand Comedy Festival.
Both are a tall order and fairly difficult to stay on top of when coupled with my 12 hour day job. It's inconceivable to me that any work I do isn't rinsing yet another drop of blood from the stone and errant emails tend to mean being strapped in and watching Leatherface slowly walk towards me with a bucket.
With the massive laundry list I have to deal with on a daily basis, I tend to fire off emails thinking I've done what I needed to do, immediately moving on to the next objective.
"..Love from Jez Brown", *SEND*, gone, forgotten.
The problem with this workflow is obvious, if the email never reaches its target, I receive a square boning.
The obvious solution is the most time consuming one as there is no way I can follow up every email I send and what point is there anyway if the follow up goes in the trash too?
I was recently looking into just how much web traffic I create through my various web page visits and outbox activity.. I suspect any professional spammers would be jealous of my numbers. Maybe one of them has a picture of me on the office wall somewhere with an hackneyed quote emblazoned across the front which he points out while yelling at other staff members pleading with them to find the wherewithal to "..be more like Jez".
Sadly not, for noone spams inboxes like I do. A relentless stream of consciousness not unlike this blog, but delivered at an almost constant rate for 14 hours of every day. I email when I wake up, during work, during meals, on the toilet and in bed before I pass out.. emailing.
And what do I get for this effort? A self perpetuating torrent in return.
Sometimes I fear opening my inbox. I stall, knowing how much attention its contents will require. On more than one occasion I just haven't bothered. I've gone to do it, but stopped, pursed my lips, delved a moment of consideration, given a rude gesture and returned to being a real live boy.
I do wonder how often this happens to other people as email begets email.
Before starting my own business I used to have a policy of turning my phone off on weekends, but it's been three years since I have.
I could create a timetable for when which kind of work is appropriate, but each time I try I leave myself hung out to dry by everyone's insistence that things must be done "now". I stand to attention and salute.
"Now" is a word I could do without. I hear it far too often and what's worse, I pass it on. Another link in a chain which seems to answer only to a clock whose tick sounds like galloping hooves.
A relentless thunderous beat which gathers speed and echoes the sound of your heart as you move with haste towards an early grave.
And so I stare into my monitor.. feeling my ulcer kick when that little number ticks up from 517 unread to 518. I wish I hadn't seen it. "I remember when that number was below 500" I think to myself nostalgically. Always hoping that there was a magic way to clear my inbox a la the Sorcerers Apprentice, but we all know how that ended and dealing with angry white men in pointy hats has never worked out well for anyone.
So a solution must be found to cut down the volume of insipid correspondence and help my brain maintain order when it comes to reaching through the dusty covers of yesterday's memories.
Maybe yoga is the answer?
Both are a tall order and fairly difficult to stay on top of when coupled with my 12 hour day job. It's inconceivable to me that any work I do isn't rinsing yet another drop of blood from the stone and errant emails tend to mean being strapped in and watching Leatherface slowly walk towards me with a bucket.
With the massive laundry list I have to deal with on a daily basis, I tend to fire off emails thinking I've done what I needed to do, immediately moving on to the next objective.
"..Love from Jez Brown", *SEND*, gone, forgotten.
The problem with this workflow is obvious, if the email never reaches its target, I receive a square boning.
The obvious solution is the most time consuming one as there is no way I can follow up every email I send and what point is there anyway if the follow up goes in the trash too?
I was recently looking into just how much web traffic I create through my various web page visits and outbox activity.. I suspect any professional spammers would be jealous of my numbers. Maybe one of them has a picture of me on the office wall somewhere with an hackneyed quote emblazoned across the front which he points out while yelling at other staff members pleading with them to find the wherewithal to "..be more like Jez".
Sadly not, for noone spams inboxes like I do. A relentless stream of consciousness not unlike this blog, but delivered at an almost constant rate for 14 hours of every day. I email when I wake up, during work, during meals, on the toilet and in bed before I pass out.. emailing.
And what do I get for this effort? A self perpetuating torrent in return.
Sometimes I fear opening my inbox. I stall, knowing how much attention its contents will require. On more than one occasion I just haven't bothered. I've gone to do it, but stopped, pursed my lips, delved a moment of consideration, given a rude gesture and returned to being a real live boy.
I do wonder how often this happens to other people as email begets email.
Before starting my own business I used to have a policy of turning my phone off on weekends, but it's been three years since I have.
I could create a timetable for when which kind of work is appropriate, but each time I try I leave myself hung out to dry by everyone's insistence that things must be done "now". I stand to attention and salute.
"Now" is a word I could do without. I hear it far too often and what's worse, I pass it on. Another link in a chain which seems to answer only to a clock whose tick sounds like galloping hooves.
A relentless thunderous beat which gathers speed and echoes the sound of your heart as you move with haste towards an early grave.
And so I stare into my monitor.. feeling my ulcer kick when that little number ticks up from 517 unread to 518. I wish I hadn't seen it. "I remember when that number was below 500" I think to myself nostalgically. Always hoping that there was a magic way to clear my inbox a la the Sorcerers Apprentice, but we all know how that ended and dealing with angry white men in pointy hats has never worked out well for anyone.
So a solution must be found to cut down the volume of insipid correspondence and help my brain maintain order when it comes to reaching through the dusty covers of yesterday's memories.
Maybe yoga is the answer?
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