Friday Morning and It is Over

I just climbed off the ladder. I hate this job, cleaning the old timbers that cut across my living room ceiling. I only hate it for one reason. My scrubbing and washing activity, across the timbers, eventually leads to the ceiling fan. Which I look at with a more than disgusted face. How can all that dog hair, covered in dust be swirling around at a high speed, delightfully glued to the circulating blades? This must be a matter of physics, the faster you go, the more likely all grease from the kitchen is sucked into providing a varnish, that holds the beautiful, red, long and thin hair in place like a delicate, ornate, Chinese fan. A wide lip of hair, hanging from the edge, is certainly thinking one thing: 'I am helping, (with the recirculation of living room air), therefore I am.'
I am starting spring semester on Monday. This fact and many other 'once-in-a-blue-moon,' jobs have been identified and faced over the last six weeks. Including the removal of a 100 year old furnace, the experience of which was only hastened by my furnace man telling me he had a free week, to set the new heating system. Well, that week has passed, and it is my hope that Dave has not. I have not seen his ass, hanging out of his pants, since we did the deal. The sum total of all these filthy and soul searing jobs has had one purpose, and one purpose only: the medicating of my greater fear: going to school and retraining myself.
I have created this blog as a way of facing fear that I can not escape. That is, moving out of my comfort range, my personal and family history, and my definition of self. I have had lots of time off. During which, I have implemented this strategy: if I am covered in dirt I will have ballast. Maybe in a primal moment, I have cued dirt as kin to burrow. That seems to work. If I am dirty and filthy, I am in the safe nest. This has got to be that gene that makes me want to put food in the basement, arrange it neatly on shelves, and watch the moon to know when to put the fishing nets in the sea.
I am not ashamed to say, I believe I am close to a fork on the anthropologic tree. Thus the fear.
The next five months on this blog I hope will show evolutionary progress. At least, dear God, may I not sit hunched over my desk like an ape. Amen.