. . . my work area, however, will tell you a little about me.
I was unwinding in front of the idiot box when an actual thought made it through (must have been at commercials). I am not my job. I am me.
Profound, right? Yeah I know, Harper Collins is going to call in 5 minutes with a book advance. . . .
Some people’s identity is bound up in what they do to get a paycheck. For some occupations (uniformed/armed services, mostly) this is good and necessary. I used to be an AT2, for example. But if you are more dedicated to your job than your family and it’s only about money, you’re off somewhere. If your company succeeds, but your children end up junkies and your wife leaves, guess what? You FAIL.
I mean that, to me, what’s important is what happens under my own roof, and, to a lesser extent, within my national boundaries. Everything else could almost go to pot, and if my home and country were in good shape, I would be okay with it. Well, at least my home is in good shape. Read the older posts here to see what bothers me about our country.
My job is a good one. They don’t have the a/c as low or the heat as high as I would like, but it’s dry inside. The labor is not too intensive, the people not to bitchy (except for Mondays or after a bender), the bosses are sometimes downright fun to be around. I do my work and they pay me for it. I do a good job and they give me the plum assignments. I like it, but if it folded tomorrow, as long as there was a financial backup for me, I would be okay with that. My last job, the same. Conditions inside were perfect (cleanroom environment) and the people mostly left me alone. We all got along and it was satisfying, daily, to be able to perform to a high degree of excellence (+/- 0.1% of anything is pretty good, and we did it regularly). When that one folded up and moved to Dallas, I took a couple of days off and (thank God) started at this job.
My family, now that I am attached to. My children are coming up right. They obey but they think for themselves. My Darling Wife, well, let’s just say she and I are both getting closer to what we want each other to be. Aside from the (free, vintage) printer, everything is working acceptably well. We have enough to eat, hot/cold running water, central heating and air conditioning, a dry roof and close-enough-to-dry windows. When I come home I get hugs & kisses. When I go to work I get waved off. My daughter tells me she loves me and means it, and so does my wife. My sons probably will when they get a little older. As the song says, “that’s the good stuff”.
My work area? Well, you would say it’s a mess. I would say it’s a dozen works in-progress. Ask me where a tool is and unless somebody else borrowed it, I’ll be able to point straight to it. Ask me for a chemical and BAM it’s right . . . over there. Say “why is this here?” and you’ll be getting a longer answer than you anticipated (maybe you won’t ask next time eh?). Sure the floor needs sweeping but if it’s down there it is either of no concern or tough enough to be trod on. The ‘stuff’ could be arranged more neatly, but if you don’t want to see a mess, just don’t turn your head that direction. If I had more time, it might be a little tidier, but the things that are important to me are taken care of. My projects are mostly in the same state and location they were when I got distracted from them, last time I was working. The tools and stuff for them is probably nearby. No, thank you, don’t clean it for me or I’ll never find anything.