Wide Awake

An update from the wild side.

I’m running hot. Everything is Bang Bang Bang and Go Go Go right now—and now and now and now.

I typically sleep eight or nine hours and then move methodically through the day with a resting heart rate somewhere shy of 50 beats, but some unknowable alignment of constellations or else my synapses occasionally conspires to quicken my blood. Solid sleep is rare, meals are a rumor, and I’ve grown a beard because there’s just no time to shave. Absolutely everything seems possible during these episodes, and it’s not a matter of what to do but what of all things to do first.

Ordinarily a courteous driver, I’m now racing up and down the island in my lifted 3/4-ton truck, terrorizing Toyota Priuses (or is it Prii?) and scattering deer before me with blasts from its obnoxious horn. My favorite Canadian classical station (I can’t believe I ever listened to it) has been abandoned for heavy metal CD’s as I head to Home Depot to wait in the parking lot for the doors to open. It’s not a condition that lends itself to writing well, which is why I’ve spared you these last couple weeks.

In my younger years these episodes could be dangerous. A budding chemist would emerge from the mania, concocting intricate mixtures of mostly illegal substances to either amplify or mellow the mood, but never quite getting it right enough to prevent the spell from eventually being broken in the back seat of a police cruiser. Now, coming up on two decades of sobriety and with a bit (a bit, mind you!) more maturity, they are merely interesting anomalies that must be endured. My wife sees them coming and helps channel the energy with lengthy honey-do-lists.

Most recently the command came down that she would most certainly, without question, absolutely be taking a bath by the end of summer. She hasn’t had a bath here since while in one of these moods two or three years ago (who’s counting, right?) I moved us into our spare room and began demolishing entire walls in our master bedroom and bathroom. Windows were torn out, French doors were removed, a concrete jackhammer was rented for a day and kept for a week, and my wife, who loves taking baths, has been patiently sharing a shower with me ever since.

Her new copper soaking tub is in a crate in the garage, waiting for the sliced pebble tile stacked beside it to be laid and grouted before it can be set atop its pedestal. So, considering the reasonableness (and firmness) of her request, two hours from now I’ll be walking around on spiked shoes smoothing the bubbles out of half an inch of self-leveling concrete. While that cures there are drip systems to put into summer service and weeds to pull and skylights to wash and rhododendrons to deadhead, plus my ongoing project of rescuing tadpoles from a drying section of the pond by transferring them in buckets to the part still holding water; and after it cures, there is the tiling to install and a floating vanity to hang and closets to build.

I could easily hire someone to finish the job, of course, but my pride is involved now. I’ve done everything myself, from studs out, including new windows, patio doors, wall-mounted toilet, illuminated statue nooks, and grasscloth wall coverings. I even built some custom light fixtures. It’s turning out quite nicely, actually. Think Bali hotel. I’ll share some before and after photos when I finally finish. For my sake, that had better be by the end of summer.

I hope to be back to a more normal rhythm soon.

Ryan.

P.S. Sorry for no audio version this week. There’s just no time.

P.P.S. I hope you’re all having wonderful summers. The sunsets here have been spectacular, bordering at times on awesome. Below is a photo of one that lingered over Vancouver Island for an hour the other night. Bonus points for spotting the cat.