I’ve always gotten frustrated easily.
It’s not something I particularly like about myself, I’ve been working on it for years with varrying degrees of success. I feel pretty good about where I’m at today, but still, certain things cut through years of hard work like it wasn’t very hard at all.
Most of the physical labor I do, I do around my house, to improve my house. Something about the physicality and the high stakes: if I mess this up I will be making my house worse, and I’ll have more to repair, has the capacity to make me feel very bad indeed.
I want to enjoy working on my house. Sometimes I really do, but there’s a tickle in the back of my mind that “hey, this could get really aggrevating if you aren’t careful.” Pressure to be careful, doesn’t make one very careful at all. The opposite, even.
This looks a bit more chaotic than it is. Mostly, it’s in process. I’m happy with how this project, my largest in almost a decade, is turning out, and I’m happy with how I’ve been as it’s been turning out.
I guess I‘m happy with how I’m turning out.
There’ve beem moments of frustration of course. Try lifting a bunch of wood, remaking two pieces from scratch, and drilling and screwing approximately...a hundred screws. (doesn’t sound like that many but it is)
And I’ve got to take them all out and replace them with brass flatheads, the domestic terrorists of the screw world.
Those things are out to get you at the best of times.
I guess I‘m happy with how I’m turning out.
There’ve beem moments of frustration of course. Try lifting a bunch of wood, remaking two pieces from scratch, and drilling and screwing approximately...a hundred screws. (doesn’t sound like that many but it is)
And I’ve got to take them all out and replace them with brass flatheads, the domestic terrorists of the screw world.
Those things are out to get you at the best of times.
