Crumbling!

The Setup:

I'm in Washington, DC for work. This city holds no magic for me. Little charm, humidity, and an attitude that just prods.

My phone isn't working well - a situation that's irksome at VERY best....

I left my hotel this evening after a really long day bathing in fluorescent light to go to the nearby CVS (which of course, closed early). I needed ibuprofen, for my WRECKED back and leg - each a result of awkward time spent working on the 535i last weekend, and a failure to stay in shape this summer - a whole other point of discussion and soul cutting source of angst.

The Hit:

The door slid open, and I heard a string of about 8 little "dings" from my phone - a backlog of txts! As I inhaled my first breath of moist, superheated DC air - I made out a message that I never want to see...

From my mother:

8.07pm:

Found Motorcycle tipped over on side when I got home. What should I do?

8.40pm: (a long ass time later):

Neighbor got it up and put in garage. Was laying in some gas little paint nibbled right by cap and tip of handle bar disconnected (that's the turn-signal I finally got secure, wired, and working last weekend)...

ONLY GOOD PART:

He (neighbor) wants to buy it 'cuz it's pretty.

That's the grain of sugar on a major shit-crepe. The flattery did go a long way to quell my sadness. I mean, my bike, AFR was on it's side, and who knows for how long. Just RESTING on the whole engine lobe. And I can't see it, touch it, fix it, do a thing about it until I hack my way through another day at our office here, spend another night of poor sleep at a hotel, and get on a little toy plane. ARG.

Here I sit. In a hotel room. Tomorrow, I'll sit in a office, do everything asked of me and not accomplish a thing. The fact that my particular work is wrapped up in fighting for values that I hold dear only complicates the matter.

I dive into bikes, cars, art, hopeful evenings because I need to build, create - a thing; change a rusted hulk to a solid piece, a memory, a good joke - that's my wake. But to make my living (paycheck), I have to troubleshoot and manage people struggling through difficult lives, relationships and assignments. I twist language and circumstance to justify and forge solutions that I feel might as well be random. I don't know if I believe that what we're doing it getting anything done - I know it's not the best way. Still, I'm afraid to let it go - it's hard to walk away from praise and accomplishment - even when you know that it's an oily little film on what's deeper...

I'll swallow it a while longer - I can, and I don't mind that much. The good in my life has always vastly outweighed the nast. Before long, I'm going to finally have to make a decision that's always crept just below the surface - that this little career of mine has run it's course, and it's never a course that's moved me closer to actualization.

When I get back to AFR - I'll see what's going on. Then, I'll take every little piece of it apart. I'll clean, rebuild, repaint, recoat, rewire, and restore it beyond what I could have fathomed when I first saw her in a dark Rockford garage.