Monday, April 30, 2018

Spread Thin

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.

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