The mountain is moved.* Now begins the dust to settle.
*most arduous move in some 55 moves
Moving from a 1-bedroom mobile home with a backyard storage unit into a rental bedroom in another’s house has been no easy feat!
Once I got 99.2% of my possessions into storage — still that tale of a lifetime to tell! — once THAT mountain was moved! — the next great challenge was how to artfully and effectively arrange too many furnishings ** and the basics of simple minimalist living into one very small bedroom and closets
** too many furnishings is element of storage unit story yet untold
Mine is a genius mind in spatial reasoning and geometry. Do NOT give me algebra, trigonometry or chemistry! Therein lay my dad’s mathematical genius, my son’s too. Thus if there are many parts to put together, compose, structure, build, assemble, coordinate toward the most effective and efficient use of space, I Am Your Girl!
Yup, I’m extremely good at tetras! (Have been asked many times!)
So if a buncha elements need to be arranged in the best possible order within spatial confines, constraints and parameters AND IF IT CAN BE HUMANELY DONE, I’m the one who can do it.
Four days after intensive labor, of arranging and rearranging shapes and objects, I’ve got my room in working and livable order.
Ditto the closets.
Ditto the kitchen — well, my portion of the refrigerator and cupboards.
I also — get ready — cleaned the floors of the entire house (minus the roommate’s bedroom and office, which is locked)! Yet another tale waiting to be told. A tale beginning with a nasty 4-letter word: mold.
I am a workhorse from another planet!
I exhaust myself. Yet like that Duracell battery, I keep on ticking. I Get It Done. Whatever NEEDS getting done.
Some 12 years ago I had a boss who told me something I’ve never forgotten. His name was Lance. It was at an utterly Lame Crap shit job (one of dozens) hence the job had no relevance to me true self and Lance’s opinion meant nothing really. Still I remember to this day what he said.
“You’re a work machine.”
Now, most folks, pretending they even shared my work ethic and most don’t, would be offended by that.
I wasn’t. It was a compliment. A backhanded compliment. I do indeed habitually and too often work like a machine. (Unresolved father issues.) But I get the fucking job done! Like no other.
I’m a powerful force trapped in a petite 5-2 female body!
Not tooting my own horn. Only telling it like it is.
The Force of Work is Within Me. The Force of Work IS Me. I may keel over from it one day! But at least it’ll be while getting something productive and necessary done!!
I can’t rest on my laurels just yet. There’s still stuff to do. Sweeping up the dust kinda stuff. Ain’t the same as pushing a 13,000-foot high mountain on one’s own strength and will!
My little bedroom is mostly in order. I’m relaxing with not one but two beers during the cocktail hour on the front porch of the house of George (my roommate, who happens to be away at the moment).
Ain’t nuthin’ like a good beer or killer cuppa joe after Hard Work into Infinity.
Hard Work: Where every fiber of your being, mind, body, muscle and tendon are engaged in and focused on one task. Or a thousand tasks.
Hard Work — truly Hard Work — requires complete commitment, focus, endurance, fortitude and survival skills.
Hard Work requires: Neutrality. Impersonalness. It requires putting yourself aside and all feelings about yourself aside to accomplish one goal and one goal only: Get The Job Done.
Even if you fucking hate it.
Even if you can’t lift one more muscle.
It was the Germans who said: “Arbeit Macht Frei.” Perhaps it’s partly my genetics that compel me so in my Workhood.
Whatever forces came into play, I Moved A Mountain.
And am enjoying tying up the loose ends and sweeping up the dust.
Because Every Iota of me is present in the work.
And THAT, my dear readers, is a Work Ethic in action!
(Your mileage may differ; so does the mileage of my national compatriots who wouldn’t know the meaning of work ethics, never mind engage in any, to save their sorry lives!)