The last couple of days, the word unmotivated understated my mood. A whole range of things played a role in that, but one significant one must be the desk in my room. The heating doesn't reach all the way into my 'office corner', the walls have moldy stains and the internet connection is at its lowest. And any attempt to work in bed is bound to fail.
The Statsbiblioteket Aarhus would be a great place to work in the weekends - but it's closed. The Danes are very strict with their opening hours. But I recently got the key card to one of the University buildings. So I went to the wonderful and pretty new Information and Media Science building. To my surprise, I wasn't all alone. Two other groups worked on presentations, one was prepared and brought a six pack of beer. The building is great: it's spacey and has comfortable furniture AND there's a pool table and hammocks in the basement. The only thing missing, as far as I noticed so far, is a coffee machine. In either case, it was quiet, I couldn't distract myself with too many other things, and I actually got much of the stuff done that I kept pushing away for over a week now.
And here's the thing: It's Sunday. Over the last half year, I became aware that my weekly rhythm individualized itself from the working world. The strict opening hour policies of Danish shops and public buildings confuses me. In Maastricht I even enjoyed the time I spent in the library with my housemates after Sunday dinner. And here, my rhythm is all messed up. All but this: Whatever my new Sunday is, it's not Sundays.
The Statsbiblioteket Aarhus would be a great place to work in the weekends - but it's closed. The Danes are very strict with their opening hours. But I recently got the key card to one of the University buildings. So I went to the wonderful and pretty new Information and Media Science building. To my surprise, I wasn't all alone. Two other groups worked on presentations, one was prepared and brought a six pack of beer. The building is great: it's spacey and has comfortable furniture AND there's a pool table and hammocks in the basement. The only thing missing, as far as I noticed so far, is a coffee machine. In either case, it was quiet, I couldn't distract myself with too many other things, and I actually got much of the stuff done that I kept pushing away for over a week now.
And here's the thing: It's Sunday. Over the last half year, I became aware that my weekly rhythm individualized itself from the working world. The strict opening hour policies of Danish shops and public buildings confuses me. In Maastricht I even enjoyed the time I spent in the library with my housemates after Sunday dinner. And here, my rhythm is all messed up. All but this: Whatever my new Sunday is, it's not Sundays.
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