Abrupt Knowledge

A fist to the face. Just saying. Slapped with your own inadequacies. A steady state, for me. I think through what I'm going to be doing tomorrow, an imperfect tense, future pluperfect. My Whacker Tacker is a Bostitch H-30 and it takes an odd crowned staple, the only stapler of it's type not to take a T-50 which is the nine millimeter round of the construction trade. When I was building I bought these by the case, because I loved that staple gun, from Marathon to Waterloo, we had stapled the world and back, several times, and I liked the way it fit my hand. Feel is important with a tool. My favorite tool is that odd twisted piece of metal that only opens paint cans and bottles of beer. Painters always drink beer, it's a matter of course. Phone was out last night, so I'll send both of these tonight. Pretty good day working under the house, messy and awkward, but crawl-spaces always are. Mostly I hauled stuff out, if it was wood I hauled it to the shed; matted insulation I bagged in a couple of 55 gallon garbage bags. Should be clear sailing tomorrow. The batts of insulation are 94 inches long and the length of each bay is 141 inches. I might be one or two bays short, but I had to over-buy because if I am short, I can probably scrounge the piece or two I need from somewhere. I itch a little, after tomorrow I'll itch a lot and probably need to spend Tuesday night in a motel, so I can shower multiple times, and maybe soak in a hot-tub. Too old for this crawling-around-under-a house shit; but I can still do it, which says something. I saved the outer layer I wore today, a sixties jump-suit in electric blue from the Goodwill, by carefully brushing, then stripping it off outside and beating it against a tree. I'll throw it away after tomorrow, along with the tee-shirt and the socks. Brutal jobs have their own rewards though: not dying, if you're successful; maybe an improvement in the quality of your life; and, after you've hawked lugers and blown your nostrils clear, a cold beer on the back stoop. I knew I wouldn't feel like cooking, so I had picked up a couple of frozen dinners, a pot pie, a lasagne, and a Thai thing that someone had told me was quite good. I can't work outside, spend a couple of hours reading (my minimum), write, do all the other stuff, and cook, I just can't. No reason to cook if your heart isn't in it. Some of this frozen stuff is very good, they've made dramatic improvements. Liquid nitrogen, listen, freeze dried cherries on your pudding, taste is reconstituted, what you thought you smelled. Pretty it would be red onions. Did a search and came up with some interesting sidebars. Who would have thought an alternative storey? Just saying.