My thinking, my keep

I was a machinist, once. Then a bicycle builder, mechanic, rider. There were other loves to be sure; kayaking, then rowing. Once in a while running seemed to be the thing to do. Jobs, most of which I didn’t like, and even if I did like them, I certainly didn’t want to keep doing them.

Humanities 101, at UBC. A great thing. I did an undergraduate degree, in four years, finishing when I was 48.

I started a Masters, which I’ll continue, so degree in hand (and a couple dollars) I’ll be able to get a coffee.

Right now I have a great job. I fix stuff, primarily gross building systems, that other people in their madness, destroy. I build, and rebuild, walls, doors, locks, plumbing, electrical, security, and a vast array of other systems. The hours are great. The money is not too bad.

And then I start thinking about machinery, machine tools in particular, again.

Ever meet a real addict? The person who can rationalize whatever their addiction is, to whoever is around, at any time or place? They make jumping off of bridges, with a parachute, sound almost reasonable. To the real addict it doesn’t matter if you understand, they just want you to agree.

A lathe, and a milling machine, would be useful. I could make widgets. Or heat-treat some stuff. Or use the DRO (digital read-out) for laying out bolt circles. But I’d have to get some CAD (computer assisted drawing (or design)) software, and learn to use that as well. And it would have to be three-phase, because 3 phase machinery vibrates less, which makes accurate work more readily practical. And I’d need some space. Grade level, you know, makes getting the stuff inside easier.

But I’d need some extra stuff to, you know, to make stuff. This machine, that machine, and at the end of the day, you know, I’d have something tangible in my hand, to show for my labours.

Nuts.

Almost certainly a formula for frustration, anxiety, collapse.

I kid myself that this stuff would ‘only have to pay for itself,’ I try to rationalize. That lightens the load a bit. But there is so much of it to get. And there is so much of it to store, to care for, to keep warm, and dry, and safe.

A blog I read regularly http://duncanmargetts.com/blog/ shares some of my views on life, though certainly not all; nor do I share all Duncan’s views, but he is almost always an interesting read. He thinks about stuff, primarily ‘more’ stuff, and makes reference to Epicurus. Philosophy, from the ancient Greeks, to blogs about cities and stuff.

But Epicurus wanted to be satisfied, not sated, and in my particular case I’m headed not even for ’sated,’ but, ultimately, dissatisfaction. Because the promise held out in machinery is false; the dreams of realization through multiple-start threads, bearing fits, and accurate work are phantasms.

Oh, I can do the work. I can even do the work on machinery less accurate than the end result. But the promise held out is one of tangible, physical, ‘real’ work at the end of the day.

And in these types of dreams, the end of that day never comes. It’s always tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow, but never now.

But, fixing stuff, as it comes, fulfills a dream. There is a tangible result at the end of the day; the building still stands, the security cameras still see, the staff have one more room in which to bed down some lost and lonely soul, and I know that I have done the best I can with what is at hand.

And the making of something from scratch?

I do that here. I sit down, with only the vaguest notion of what I’m going to say, and if at the end you’re still reading, I must have created something.

So, tomorrow, I’ll fix stuff. And, I’ll enjoy fixing it as well as I can, under the circumstances. And I’ll continue to write, here, and once in a while, in search of money.

And I know I can make my pen pay its keep.