flooring, ctd.

in

My grandfather wouldve been 98 today (though 96 good years and two royally shitty months of 97 are a solid record; we should all be so lucky) and, with the exception of one row by the door area – on the docket today, along with floor trim which I'll be sourcing from the already-stained pieces of what was once the first desk I built –, that fucking floor (its official name) is in NuSanctum: if hell is, indeed, a thing, and I'm sentenced there, my own personal slice of it will consist of me having to do flooring for eternity while my mercifully long-dead stepfather attempts to impart life lessons via radio-blasted high school sports metaphors in that fucking swamp-creature-love-child-of-Jimmy-Carter-and-Jimmy-Stewart voice of his. And with that visual, I leave you to your day.

me v that fucking floor

in

Left hand and inner forearm loaded up with its morning dose of "healing ointment": didn't count on falling asleep being such a bitch with Herbie jabbed in one side, a tender and awesomely inked arm on the other, and Beyonce's "Freedom" stuck in my head after Harris's amazing acceptance speech but thenagain it's been six years since I got my first tattoo (my wedding ring) which was, until yesterday, the only work I'd had done on my left arm. Time and healing ointment heals all wounds or at least makes you forget about them until you get a reminder like a curious German Shepherd. Ink therapy FTW, forever.

Exciting shift in project priorities, but to get there, I've decreed that I will get that fucking floor installed in NuSanctum this weekend so that, by next Wednesday, I can move full-time out there for work (solar install is Tuesday). Uplift desk arrived and is on the docket for assembly but only once that quote unquote fucking floor is installed.

ink therapy

in

After far too long - we finished the right sleeve just before the pandemic – I'm indulging in ink therapy / creative refresh/refuel with my favorite tattoo artist this afternoon. Starting the left sleeve, a few things I want on there, the rest I'm going to let her improvise. Arm as canvas for a favorite artist with a buzzy needle – a much more pleasant way to spend my afternoon than fighting with "quick-lok" flooring in NuSanctum. Quick-lok my ass: I'd've rather dealt with nailing the shit directly to the subfloor. Still, the laminate hardwood is a far cheaper – and more robust – alternative, especially when I'll have dogchildren running in and out through their dog door throughout my working / making hours. Expecting the arrival of my new standing desk – sprung for one of the L-shaped Uplift desks since 1/2 of my efforts at making my own fell apart – in many boxes while my left arm is under the therapeutic hum of Jess's buzzy needle. Quick-lok battle resumes tomorrow.

first day

in

First day of school for K – and for the local elementary kids moving to the "all-in-one" school outside of town – and the first of my slowdown mornings for me, timeshifted rituals and routines abound: reading first (John Rechy's CITY OF NIGHT, at present) with dogchildren and matcha instead of coffee – because reading tastes like matcha and working tastes like coffee (and the matcha buzz wears off after four hours, give or take, the verdict remaining out on whether I have my usual two cups of coffee while working or if I can drop down to one); then to yoga, breakfast, and the day's run. Then, The Work: Attendance Cards will, as always, be the start of the workday – only timeshifted a few hours because now I'm letting myself slow down and not cram the pieces of the day that refuel my self-respect into a few hours before the sun rises and spend the rest of the day draining that fuel with utmost consistency. Notions, even, of working – or, rather, tinkering – in the afternoon – though that will be more likely once NuSanctum is up and running. Might even get some more sleep / wouldn't it be nice.

So far, it's been a lovely experiment in temporal displacement – though it's apparent that I'll have to work out new running routes for the schooldaze as local schoolchildren gather at the old elementary school near me to be bussed out to the all-in-one and the sidewalks are now, between 0830 and 0900, overrun with frazzled parents and feral children (run away, run away / keep running) but, on the bright side, after that, it's gloriously, wondrously quiet around here.