Hyper

At one of the talks I attended in graduate school, a prof disclosed that most graduate students encountered periods of depression, sometimes severe. His remedy to bouts of depression was to set a very small and achievable goal for each day, get that goal completed, and then reward it generously. He even disclosed that this goal could be "do the laundry and put it away," and needn't involve coming in to work even; the reward, meanwhile, could be watching an hour of TV in bed. Then, as days progressed, he suggested adding more tasks, the cumulative effect of accomplishment and progress going a long way to alleviating the depression. It's some of the simplest and best advice I can remember, and I still use it, even when it's not depression but excessive busy-ness or feeling like life is a little too stagnant.

Lately I have turned this kernel of advice into a full-blown spate of hyperactivity. I have drawn up my own punch list of repair jobs at home, which I am attacking with rage. In the midst of this, I seem to have lost my inspiration for paper and fabric craft, which would be much more appropriate for the season. Instead, I seem to have been bitten once again with the wood shop bug. (Is this the one you have Pica? Who gave it to whom, or was it coincidental?)

I have a work bench, but it isn't deep enough. I continually push my tools and implements off the back while I clear the front. So I devised an extension to the back which incorporates some of the many empty yogurt tubs we and our friends accumulate (thank you Nancy's and Fage!). In the course of measuring, cutting, drilling, glueing, I meditate on how wonderful wood is, and the feel of tools in the hand appease me. Here I took a photo of one of my favorite tools, a clamp which holds pieces square to one another. Since I work alone, I can't do without it. But its mechanism is so smooth that it's literally a pleasure to handle too. And here's a photo of my yogurt-tub rack, which is now loaded up and holding everything from the mystery-spot pull of gravity emanating from behind the bench.