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January 9, 2008

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 Sometimes I wonder if I'm happy with too little. 
 But then again, I'm happy. What more do I want? 
 Would I be happier if I were living some grand 
 romantic version of the artist lifestyle? Or would 
 it just become a grind? There's something I like 
 about the strenuous work I do--so long as I only 
 have to do it 3 days/week. There's something 
 to be said for wearing down the body, clearing 
 the mind, and focusing dimensionally on the task 
 at hand whether it's drilling a hole, scooping gravel, 
 scrubbing rust stains off concrete, applying clear 
 coat, gluing and nailing off subfloor, or making 5 
 cuts around and through a thick GluLam beam 
 and having it come off square--all of which I did 
 today after first having one of those crystallized 
 moments upon getting to the jobsite in West Seattle 
 at 8:39 a.m. PDT: overnight rain on agriculture tarp 
 we had lain the night before, puddles scattered 
 like a mirror that'd broken and turned to mercury. 
 There was something about it that said: I am here. 
 The forecast was for rain but the morning was 
 sunny. Kind of unbelievably. The trains, cranes 
 and containers of a working port were at my feet, 
 the beeping of large reversing machinery recurred 
 throughout the day, imprinting itself vividly....