Lazy Bum

After an especially long day at work, full of sound and fury and meetings signifying nothing, I just couldn't stand the thought of doing even more Work work at home. Instead, it was time to do something really relaxing.

Like building a wall.

There's something therapeutic and transformative about the act of physical creation: taking a pile of ordinary items and putting them together in a novel way to make something that is both useful and attractive. It gives a completely different kind of satisfaction compared to that of creating a story or a software program; it is tangible and substantial; it awakens the muscles not only in the fingers but in the entire body.

The little voice in my brain said it was time for some physical activity, time to feel a tangible result from my efforts; so I took a few 2x3 boards from the pile on the basement floor and laid them out in a rectangular pattern and measured and cut them to the appropriate size, drilled the holes and placed the screws; raised them up into the vertical position and placed them along the pencil lines; secured them to the floor and the ceiling joists with yet more screws; then stood back and took a look at the effect.

It always helps to see how things go together in the three-dimensional world.

James came down at one point and looked at the way things were going - it is, after all, his closet that is being put together - and marvelled at the size of it. It's large enough to put his drawing desk in, so now he's imagining that it will be his own private art studio complete with door and light and silence and security (such that the sisters will not disturb him).

To me, it has the added benefit of fitting into the overall unwritten plan of the downstairs layout. It corrects a recessed wall which was a side-effect of the bizarre foundation design, transforming it into a simpler rectangular wall with a short passageway to the back bedroom.

It was also impromptu, a departure from our original plan which called out for a built-in shelf unit embedded in that recess; but that is why I prefer to prototype my designs rather than merely putting them down on paper. I need to see, to feel, to experience the design before it is acceptable. And standing in James' room, it just didn't feel like he was going to have enough closet space if we walled in a rectangular section of the existing room. It made much more sense to take the available space from the adjoining recess.

It was quite enjoyable to take a break from the computer. When working on these kinds of projects, it occurs to me that it would be much more fun to do work like this, creating things with my hands, making useful things instead of putting together charts and graphs and dealing with personality conflicts in the office. But it is not something I could do professionally. I don't have the skills for really fine work, and I don't have the humility to take instruction from other people who would criticize my work, even thought it might be helpful in the end. I've never been one to take criticism or instruction gracefully; I'd rather learn things the hard way myself. This is another reason for prototyping: if it doesn't work the first time, take it all apart and try again.

The only downside to the whole effort was that, while drilling holes in the joists over my head, a bit of sawdust found its way into my eye. Now my eye feels as though it is full of sandpaper. It's not flushing out with the eye drops, or the shower, so it probably means I'll have to lay off for a while.

But I look forward to continuing, and finishing it up.