Doing My Very Best Thoreau Impression

I GOT MYSELF SUCKED UP into a construction project in the middle of NaNoWriMo. Well, sort of. It actually started back in August, when I said to She Who Must Be Obeyed that I had to get the storage locker cleared out by Labor Day, which meant I had to buy a prefab shed to put in the back yard.

This weekend, which ought to be a writing-only weekend, I actually had to do some physical labor. Being 60 is Mother Nature’s way of telling you that Thoreau wasn’t so much of a pussy when, in Walden, he bitched about how hard it is to do manual labor alongside a serious writing career. Believe it or not, transporting enough lumber to make a 10×12-foot platform from the bays at Home Depot to the below-grade back yard at Casa D’Alger really is equivalent to plowing forty acres with a mule. If you’re 60 (read: ancient and decrepit) and out-of-shape. And then, today, Man Mountain from down The Lane and I gathered together in said back yard to dig post holes. You know, those places where you put post turtles — with posts in between. And… I had intended to continue — maybe, hopefully finish — repairs on the side steps. I have 6 left to put new stretchers under the treads. I cut new stretchers from an 8-foot 2×4. Man Mountain dug eight post holes and regaled me with tales of his family history (endlessly fascinating, I kid you not; Celia Hayes would love this guy).

Three hours manual labor. No writings. So current progress stands same as it was yestiddy. 45,437.

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