okay, sometimes I wish for a job where I could take a break and type something. Like when I was laying a brick fireplace yesterday in preparation for the coming winds, snows, moments of lost starring into.. I was thinking about labor. The Laborious kind. Certain tasks reveal certain needs. Bricks and Mortar make these hands unrecognizable.
This is on the same thought tangent as before when I was ripping plywood and thinking about the sound of wood. But this moment of discovery is ultimately lost and I am no writer to recall. I just write what my fingers say. Diaristic fingertips, they are not!
I was thinking about Hopi today, this is a good thing since usually I only think about her when I'm drunk. Developing conversations with her while priming out a museum wall is very satisfying, but again, only in short term. She said something to Empire about intentional fluidity to movements. Listening in, I agreed. I've had little time off this year, work has been a blessing in between the the evenings when I've fallen, literally, asleep unconscious. But it's reminded me, when I am at work I've learned to manage every moment of energy as efficiently as I can. I can't keep up with the men, it's physically impossible. Be it leverage, pulleys, block and tackle, or common sense. I work I work I work.
Where the hell was this going with this?
That Hopi will be in my head forever?
I want to tell you about my work, but in my family talking about yourself is considered rude.
But I want to tell you about it anyway, because this has become me. I build in my dreams.
Last night I saw a part of my dream house. The second floor floated behind a glass wall and when I woke up I drew out the plans for my studio.
What I want to say is that I am changing. That this work makes me different, my hands, my spine. muscles, not the soft office Kate who wrote dangerous stories, who's mind rested, and could easily see the ocean from the shore. Let me recognize this. I know it sounds strange, let me understand that I am not her anymore, it is my shoulders which are stretched like awning and I am the sound the sound of an axe to a tree.