Working...still.
I smell like portland cement. The various cuts and scrapes no longer bleed, the mixture of stone and glue has created an unguent of sorts, stemming the flow. I enjoy that, stopping the flow and pain through the sheer single mindedness to not let such a trivial thing as pain or injury stop you from achieving your goal.
What drives me? What possible reason do I have to truly care about the homes that I make once again beautiful? What drives me? I don't honestly need the money, but it is useful, is it greed? I feel better, physically and emotionally from the work, is it some runner's high? I would like to say it's something noble, that I work because it ascetically pleases me to make things more beautiful with my own hands. Or that I'm helping the world. Or something else that makes me feel better about myself.
Ego. Why is it so imperative that I feel good about myself, that others think well of me? Some survival instinct to not show weakness to preserve myself from exile from the herd?
I love you, so very very much. I'll never let go, never.
My friends, I'm so lucky to have you. Thank you.
What drives me? What possible reason do I have to truly care about the homes that I make once again beautiful? What drives me? I don't honestly need the money, but it is useful, is it greed? I feel better, physically and emotionally from the work, is it some runner's high? I would like to say it's something noble, that I work because it ascetically pleases me to make things more beautiful with my own hands. Or that I'm helping the world. Or something else that makes me feel better about myself.
Ego. Why is it so imperative that I feel good about myself, that others think well of me? Some survival instinct to not show weakness to preserve myself from exile from the herd?
I love you, so very very much. I'll never let go, never.
My friends, I'm so lucky to have you. Thank you.