. . . . Admin

 

 

 Administration of bills, coping with solicitors over the house

purchase, trying to understand tax forms, sorting out money

problems and generally being totally responsible for myself was, at

first, extremely frightening. I had had no part in these activities as a

married woman and I was quite convinced that I would be

completely unable to tackle them. But I did. And I could. It came as a

great surprise to me just how capable I was, having been under the

impression, while married that I was almost moronic. I did the desk

work in the mornings. Necessary fresh air was taken daily, after

lunch. Oxford is traditionally a city full of bicycle riders. (I think many

of them bicycle with an image of someone else in mind. Either a girl

at a secretarial college trying to resemble a student or a student

trying to resemble an academic. Or a North Oxford housewife trying

out her Greenham Common outfit). Anyway, I hate bicycles, and

maniacal cyclists. So, I tried a new venture, walking, which proved

both beneficial as exercise, and uplifting. It is a magical experience

exploring the diversities of Oxford on foot. Watching the canal boats

at Donnington Bridge, visiting the beautiful colleges, or walking

through the water meadows and stopping on the way back in a

bookshop, was a perfect way to spend the afternoon. In the evening

after supper, I learnt to enjoy the peace. It is, I know, corny to

elaborate on the process of ‘knowing thyself’. 

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Newly single people,

intent on finding their own ‘space’, whatever that means, can bore

on about it interminably. But as Socrates, Alexander Pope and

Herman Hess strongly recommend the idea of knowing oneself, and

as I greatly respect their judgement, that is precisely what I tried to

do. More from circumstance than from conscious planning I

discovered my real hates. Violence, aggression, confusion, and noise

(endemic in our society) are abhorrent to me. Finding this out was

important on practical grounds. For instance, those mouth-watering

jobs I saw when I was job-hunting – advertising for personal

assistants or secretaries to help employers build empires, or to meet

interesting/exciting top people, and/or the ability to leave the

country at a moment’s notice, all share the same snag: ‘to be able to

work under pressure.’. This means noise, confusion, aggression and

probably some kind of violence to achieve the first three. Also, I am

quite slow. Slow at everything. So, if I got a job which meant working

under pressure, by about Wednesday of my first I would probably be

needing the outpatients’ department in the nearest asylum. So

would my boss. I regrettably found myself to be sensitive where

others are less so. I take offence where none is intended. This is

extremely boring, but a fact that I seem unable to change. But

discovering my frailties was a help in choosing the kind of life and job

most suitable to my temperament. 

 

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