Tomorrow I’ll work twelve hours. Maybe more. I took a second job. We need money. The build is going over budget. As they do, and I am happy to do what I need to do. Pulling wire isn’t what some wish to do, but I am among the few that will know how to do it. My company is functioning, too. Always. It’s been fifteen years of slathering my mind all over what to make it. I’ve made it tick long enough. If it can’t continue without me holding its hand I’ll see it when it wakes up, dust out its corners and revive what’s worth caring for. So here I sit, yet again with a beer, looking out our condo window thinking of the build. The great build. Or, so it is for us. Our tiny family- our house on the hill. Our second story windows face north and happens to be where my office is going to be. I’ll watch blizzards from my office window while reading a good book. It’s worth the hours of work. Twelve hour days with sweat running down my back is a gift to feel while knowing we’ll have what we’ve always wanted after the sweat has dried; receding into the same stillness that helped create it.