Straight Chillin in anticlimatic

Winter, I must say, has been doing me right this year. Mild temperatures, but plenty of that clean freeze blanket covering the bulk of the month. Just the right amount of festive blizzards scattered throughout. Misty evenings of just-above-freezing, and all of them with their own particular scent, under another particular umbrella of scents. The best of scents. Not even lilacs in June can compare to the cloudless night sky in January. Someone make that a candle please.

I’ve been having quite a bit of fun at work lately. The winter doesn’t bother me at all this year, perhaps because I finally have S-tier armor for dealing with it- fancy thermals, warm boots, multiple layers of gloves depending on how much dexterity/precision is needed, a good hat, thermals, an under shirt, an overshirt, a light jacket, a heavy vest, an optional face mask if there is wind, and a completely separate and enormous (and expensive) hooded down jacket for proper comfort in the worst possible conditions. Not that I’ve needed it this year.

I work alone, and it feels like a game. A rather fun one. I drive some distance to a destination with GPS. I walk through the winter, across the threshold, or into the holes to find the problem. My tools feel like weapons in a battle against physics and matter. My vehicle feels like a spaceship in which all I need I have carefully stored. I visit trade posts throughout the day for food and supplies. But it’s the heat of battle that really brings the fun. By drill, or saw, or blowtorch, or lever- the satisfaction of bending matter into a functional shape is immediate and lingering.

While working lately I’ve been listening to the Count of Monte Cristo, and heard a line that gave me pause for reflection. I do believe it intended just for me:

“When you compare the sorrows of real life to the pleasures of the imaginary one, you will never want to live again, only to dream forever.”

Something about the bridge of this song absolutely slays me. Like, if I could bottle it…