I remember when I used to have a lot of time on my hands...so much so
that I'd just shrug my shoulders and wander around town. I'm sure this
sent those around me into some concern, but those times would (on
occasion) bring some genuine excitement into my life though the means of
discovery. Stumbling into gold is a hell of a lot more fun than
reading reviews online and getting your hopes up.
Nowadays, due to circumstances I did and did not create, there is
precious little time like the above...at least for now, of course. And
even when that time arrives, albeit much shorter a range, I know the
opportunity will be met with an immediate review: what did you do with
that time? It's an annoyance, to be sure. You're being bossed around
afterwards, so to speak, but there is a layer underneath all that: did
you make the best of it?
So you do some shit alone that, one immediately notices, takes little
time at all because you're not with "helpers" or other sloth-like
distractions. Now...what? There ain't shit on TV. You're on the
computer at work enough, so...let's work on that garage.
I don't believe in "caves" just like I don't believe in bachelor
parties, because if someone is suggesting that in this life I get one
room for "my stuff" or one night for "me" because the rest of life will
be a vicious landscape, then I wouldn't go down this path. Instead, I
sought to seek a space on the property that, under no circumstances
would anyone but me voluntarily want to hang out for long periods of
time. This hit me around the time when I entered the hardware store,
took in the smell in there (a smell that reeks of "let's do shit") that
it was perfectly fine by me. All I need is a beer fridge, and that'll
do.
Wait a minute...is this insanity? Look at this guy, drinking beer in an
garage on a warm night...yikes. Well, let us imagine that that very
guy was happy in that element. Comfortable in his own skin. A
completed decision. Thankfully, it turns out I was not alone. Former
Pacific Gold writer Steve Simpson said I was actually behind on this
development: it's your own personal break room. I hunger just thinking
about it. And so it shall pass.
(My dream, of course, is a room full of flashing lights and keyboards,
like those "computer rooms" or "headquarters" from 70s and 80s
movies...levers and buttons, and I have a Mr. Microphone. In a pinch,
this alternative will suffice.)
I see my long term future not having to do this activity much, if at
all. But for now, I nurse the brew, look around, and nod the
affirmative. Enter these gates, and be happy.
