Wednesday, August 1, 2012

A mile a minute

“When it’s dry, it’s dry but when it rains, it pours.”

         I’m on my knees bent over a hot tin roof nailing a piece of fascia board to the front of our newly constructed deck. My eyes are treated gracefully by the twinkle of the ocean directly ahead. I dare not stop any longer because the beauty will overcome my will to work, this work must be completed. Work hard, work fast, be rewarded. It’s been nearly two years since this feeling gave life to the ethic to work so hard that the sweat saturates my shirt to a consistent darker blue all over. The 33 degrees and cloudless sun licks the moisture from my skin while my pale white body desperately tries to replenish its layer of sweat. Comfort is the feeling acquired when I work hard, I’m familiar to this and I remember now that I’m good at it, it feels good to be good at something. I take great pride in what I do, I want to do a good job and I want to do it better than the competitor. I’m at home, I’m satisfied, after two years of throwing myself into unfamiliar situations and jobs, I’m comfortably familiar.

                It’s Tuesday afternoon and I’m a carpenter on Christmas Island, It’s been four days since stepping foot on this rock and I have a house, a 4wd truck, fuel card, and an incredible job three times more lucrative than anything attainable in Canada. Sometimes when life gives you lemons you need to make lemonade but other times when life gives you lemon meringue pie, you just need to take a bite. I came here on a mission to build a tree fort, it’s what I intend to do in time but only a fool would be blind to the opportunities presented. At the end of the day the most successful people in the world got to where they are by taking advantage of the opportunities presented to them, and so shall I. I have to stop for a minute and think, so much so quick, so fast, I can’t even remember the last crap I had. Not good. I can’t even boast in the lunchtime conversation of its girth or colour. Not cool. I just wonder if it will ever slow down but on the other hand I don’t want it to. Keep this shit coming, bring it the hell on, I can handle anything you throw at me, I think I’m ready but I’m not. I can tell it’s been too long since lying on a hospital bed with an IV drip (another familiarity in my life).
Four days to go from nothing to something, slept in three beds, ate two meals, and packed a lousy lunch, here I am kneeling on this hot tin roof living the life I dreamt about years ago during the days of wiping snot from my chapped lips attentive not to touch my frost bitten nose. I’m not sure what I did right or where I did it but this is pretty close to true happiness. To dream of something one day with no intentions of ever achieving it, to waking up every morning living it, I’m truly happy.  

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