Work.

>I’ve been using my body in the best way I know how. Stretching and sculpting and working with my hands. When I say this, I mean that I’ve realized something about endorphins over the past week. I’ve been doing some serious handy-work on my house and I feel so powerful about it. Please excuse me if I gush a little. Its been a real mood booster, folks.

One thing that I know I can do well is work with my hands. Use my muscles to forget anything that might be wrong. Push, and grunt and sweat into something until its completion under my will.What I want to say, is that its about where I come from, too. When I’ve got a project, I get up in the morning and dont stop working unti lI go to bed. I forget to eat most of the time while im doing it. I sweat everything I’m dealing with and all the bad shit I’ve put into my body out into the wood and then I turn that wood into something better. The ladyfriend was worried, I’d been inside my house all weekend, working, sweating.I said, ‘Are you kidding? Im a fucking workhorse, Baby.”

I can’t stop. Once I’ve motivated myself to get out the hammer and nails, its over for days. My best friend came over two days, and we tip-toed around each other the best way that men can. We listened to country music and we worked. We talked about secret things, about hard things, while we worked our bodies up to overheating, while we stared at the walls in my house instead of each other. He held me up, and helped me up without making me feel weak about it. I’ve had a gym membership, but I dont go because something about it doesn’t sit right with me. Something about standing in one place, about moving my body on some fancy machine, that doesn’t show me a result anywhere but the way my muscles might be warm afterwards. Something about paying to do this with dozens of other people zoned out around me doing the same is really concerning.

What I want to say, is that Its about where I come from because working is in my muscle memory, in my subconcious as being somewhere I can feel confident, competant, safe. I’ve been using my body the best way I know how. You can see the results of it in my home, sanded and sculpted and rubbed and cut and painted and remolded into something solid. If you look hard enough, you can see the results in my face; set to resolution.

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One thought on “Work.

  1. >Hi. Just dropped in via Sugarbutch Chronicles (which I recently started reading). I decided to comment here, even if this one is a little older, because it’s my favorite post in your blog so far.I can much relate to the obsessedness-until-something’s-ready, about forgetting to eat and all (I do this with other stuff, though). I can also relate to not relating to gym “work” but wanting real work with a real result (other than simply feeling exercised).But this is not why this piece is my favorite. It’s my favorite because it touched me in a way not a lot of blog posts do. I can’t even say why exactly I like it so much, but it’s somewhere in the paragraph about your friend and you working/talking together and in the last one where you link your work, your home, and your body/face. I also really like that you categorized it as “class” and so linked it to a “bigger picture” that goes way beyond oh-so-individual-and-not-influenced-by-anything-than-personal-taste (as if!) preferences. Oh, and it’s well written, of course.So, I’m all for public gushing about things that feel good, especially when they are so fundamental to someone (and especially when they help so much – at least that’s what I read between the lines of this post and the one before that).Um, I can’t write very well anymore today, but I hope you still get the idea. 🙂

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