hotter than a somalian whorehouse

the old warehouse:

the new warehouse:

moving this much equipment is slow and tedious, especially so with a cranky forklift dubbed 'the ex-girlfriend': nobody wants to get on top of her.  doesn't go high enough, a hot throttle that can't be dialed back, a parking brake that doesn't work, and non-standard lift controls.  still, one has to soldier on.

we discussed the matter of soldiering on.  dustin especially hates moving and quite frankly no one is particularly fond of it.  there are a lot of things to set up, build, move, and all of them are repetitive and oftentimes boring and have the always lingering potential to cause great bodily injury should one lose focus.  the trick is to finding your little area of zen or in a more common vernacular your 'happy place'.  it seemed prudent to share mine.  like anything in life there's a journey to be made and your happy place is not merely a destination.  mine starts in a rowboat on the river of a deciduous forest.  i can see smoke from a chimney from the treeline.  as i row i feel the rhythm of the oars in the water and can almost feel the lather on my arms.  i find myself mooring to a stump on shore.  i start walking down a wooded path on an oft travelled but distinctly trodden path.   the sounds and smells are always different.  i don't know how long i'm walking.  eventually i find that the smoke is coming from a rough-hewn cottage.  i go inside.  there is a watchmaker surrounded by all sorts of clocks, clock mechanisms, tools and scratches of paper.  it smells of old wood, machine oil and tobacco.  we talk.  sometimes i ask him a question.  most times i get an answer.  during all of this time becomes a bit more fluid and focus is maintained.

i say all of of this and when i finish everyone starts laughing hysterically.  it's cool.  it takes a bit to find your own happy place.