Plans

Plan. Design. Create. Build.


Today, I opened up old drawers and dusty boxes searching for the tools that I have held in my hands since I was young. Some of them belong to my great-grandfather, some to my father and some to my grandpa Frank.

At some point in each of their lives, they held these tools in their own hands...hands very similiar to my own...determined to create something. Dreamers. I share this DNA with them...the lead smears across my fingers the same way I imagine it did on their own. It is sharpened by the same tool that my great-grandfather once used. My dreams might even be mirrored in their own.

They are the ghosts of my ancestry and also my life support. We have unfinished business here...I can feel it, have always felt it. It needs to end with me...or maybe just begin...but its unsettled and it creaks for resolution.

In two weeks, I get another chance to reuse these tools. They are now archaic by today's standards. Aged in the last 20 years by an overwhelming growth in technology. And yet, as much of a gadget girl or early adopter that I am...these are sill my tools of choice. These are the tools that resonate within my soul drawing my spirit upward in a way that only artists comprehend.

I have no desire, nor can I even pretend to have the stomach for going back to Corporate America. I know I'll probably have to do it for a short time while I transition, but as I search job listing after job listing I am utterly repulsed on such a deep level. Its like tequila, once you have gotten really shit-faced drunk off Cuervo shots...so sick you are passed out in your own vomit on the floor...just the smell of it years later registers a physical and emotional response. Yeah, that is exactly where I am with monkey jobs.

I want to ditch all the practical bits of furniture and replace them with my old tools. My table, my stool, and maybe upgrade the corner with a nice CAD setup. I don't care for now if all I am doing is drafting up someone else's design over and over. I don't care if its as simple as a one-room remodel or small addition. I just need that part of my soul cared for again. I need that kid that literally would rummage thru her father's and grandfather's desk drawers pulling out mechanical pencils, china markers and templates to be able to sit at the desk...her own.

Maybe once I get there I can really begin to think about those other things I want. But this is for me...not because I am "creative" or "talented" or "what [you] should be doing." No...not for all of those reasons...just my own need to be who I was born to be. Good, bad, talented or mediocre...it doesn't matter other than to find out who she really is and stop this ongoing failure to grasp what I truly wish, want and yearn for.

I am calling up those ghosts to haunt me if I stray this time.