Once I might’ve thought gnarled up hands were cool. Now I think that mostly, I should be more careful and patient.

Scrapped knuckles and a little hand saw nicks are hardly grevious injuries resulting from ignorance, but they might not have happened were I a little more careful. 

Funny, the relationship patience has with fatique. I was very patient this morning, but after a few hours milling lumber, and a few more hours putting up cedar shake, I wasn’t feeling very patient at all.

I could feel the patience bleeding off like morning fog, or morning coffee. The shingles get a little more lopsided, a little less even as you go around. You might, if you look carefully, be able to tell which side of the duck house I did first. 

That’s what makes the impatience okay, the imprecision alright; it was for a duck house, a house for ducks, not a church or a house for humans.

If I were designing a play house I might’ve stopped to resume with a sharper eye and hand, instead, I enjoyed the exhaustion and the stupid choices like I’m some Mishima character.

Which I am.