Swapped the transfer case out in the GMC with the rebuild today. At some point soon I’ll put something together on aggregate to document this, however someone asked for a material list for the chicken coop on flickr today so perhaps I should do that write up as well. The transfer case swap has me thinking a lot. Of course, there’s the disappearance of M. I’m unconvinced she wants to hear from me at all, even if something is horribly wrong. Despite all that conversation with T about the people that get passes in our lives, I just, am unconvinced she cares.

Particularly, I’ve been comparing this transfer case job with the last. Around six years ago I had rebuilt the transfer case in the Chevy with some help from Matthew. At the time a number of folks were eager to help but like most of the opportunities I tried to give they wandered off eventually. M’s relationship with this swap is quite a bit different, but not entirely so. Promises, indication of interest, no follow through.

Mom and I had dinner with T and I urged her to get her drivers license. In my head I’ve been thinking a lot about responsibility. At the time, I was thinking about how getting your drivers licenses is one of those things you should do, but usually are pressured to. It reminds me of Dad saying that the key to taking advantage of opportunities is being prepared to take them.

What’s changed in six years? I’ve gone from a 1993 Chevy with around 80,000 miles (150k now I believe) to a 1997 GMC with 210,000 miles.Really, everything. Still. I thought about how so few people I know here know what a transfer case is, let alone what it would mean to swap one. Yet, I had confidence in doing the job. Partially because my automotive knowledge gives me a good idea of what it would be like, but also because I’ve done it before. When I thought about writing about the job, I got thinking about mechanics that do this every day, and how it isn’t a particularly special thing. Then again, I doubt I know anyone here who has swapped a transfer case before.

I spent eight hours out in the cold today doing the work alone, except asking one of my roommates to run one of the jacks as I extracted and replaced the transfer case from the under-body. Last time, I spent most of it alone, although I had great help (mentorship?) from Matthew. That’s what struck me. I tend to think people aren’t doing anything, but I’ve also managed the last couple of years to fill my life with people who are. So what’s missing, why was I doing this alone? Or why did I spend three days alone on a mountain last weekend? Or take two dirt bike trips alone the weekend before? At least half of it is finding people who really want to do these things and will follow through. I wonder how much is preference.

Mom proposed I may want to wait until it was warmer to do the work, but I was committed and didn’t want to put it off. I said to her that I had done much worse and I was reminded of installing a block heater on the P30. It was in New York, in the parking lot of a motel, in real snow. It was cold to begin with, but I had to flush most of the coolant to add the block heater, so it was wet and colder. The situational conditions didn’t provide much comfort either. I had to take a taxi to an auto parts store to get a battery charger and the parts.

Anyway. I’m excited to not fit and be alone right now. Weird.

Look what arrived. Woooooot. I guess I know what I’m doing on Saturday. I had plans to rebuild the transfer case on the GMC with L1, but she’s been relatively flaky, and she was extremely flaky to being with. Thus getting a rebuild and swapping it myself. I hiked Mount Si last night in the snow with L2, which was absurd but fun. This also meant we had a lot of time to talk, and was interesting to boot. Somehow Friday is nearly here. I wanted to do the FHR this weekend, but I’m oncall for ARC. I could have found someone to cover, but there’s an AA work party, and I’ve got to work on the truck, and, and. and. Anyway. Off we go.

To love means to commit oneself without guarantee, to give oneself completely in the hope that our love will produce love in the loved person.

Fromm, from The Art of Loving. I stumble across some notes, while waking up. I’m working from home today because some contractors are coming by to do some measuring on the house.

What a strange twenty-four hours.

I’ve had a lot on my mind, which made for an interesting hour with J. Surprisingly that was preceded by lunch with K where we talked mostly about businesses and organization. I spent the afternoon sitting in the surgery waiting room with my mother waiting for my stepfather to get out of back surgery. Dinner. Then I got incredible frustrated with one of my volunteer organizations, so I turned to distracting myself with comfort movies. Next thing I know, it’s the middle of the night. A sudden bout of facebook heckling came up, which spurned a couple serious conversations. And then there is the other thing.

Today is going to be long. I’m going to brew coffee.

When you don’t see another human for over forty hours and you simultaneously are enjoying gorgeous soul defining views, you get a lot of time for deep contemplation. I did not, however, take anything to write these thoughts down on. Most of them are likely now permanent parts of me, sans the opportunity to observe their shape before they joined the rest of me. Some I will remember and will fuel writing to come.

I have to unpack still, M and I ran off to the Home Show for a bit. She needed to go to school and I mostly wanted to hang out, although I giddily climbed through the sheds. No sir, I don’t need your price list, I build these myself.

Fed and showered. Now probably some more feeding, a couple errands, and if there’s time, formulate a plan for how to write about this weekends adventures.

I am taking advantage of having Monday off and I am headed to Hex and Sasse mountain near Cle Elum tomorrow. My bedroom is cover in gear. Clothes, backpack, tent, sleeping bag. I swear the whisperlite worked last time I used it. When was that? Didn’t I have two old ones? Did I loan one? I hate that. Is it that time already?

Current theme song: Bonnie Tyler – Making Love Out of Nothing at All.

Reflective days lately. I just want to be outside.

And I’m never gonna tell you everything I gotta tell you
But I know I gotta give it a try

I may have written about this lately, but I got talking to J about how I naturally fall back on being up front with how I feel and what I think. I suppose I’m pretty good at filtering what I think as appropriate, but I struggle more with filtering how I feel. It was really hard, and still is, deciding what to keep from L. It’s sort of a moot point, I suppose, but it feels real, so it is real. I suppose this filters people, because not everyone really knows how to deal with how raw I can be. I definitely throw a blanket of sarcasm over all of it. A friend made a comment about the tunnel on facebook recently which sparked a bit of debate. I responded mostly with sarcasm, such as complaining about the gridlock on the ferries, but did make some honest remarks. A couple people laughed at my jokes. One gave recognition to my use of references in a facebook argument. Another said,

In general I don’t engage arguments against the BTM ‘cuz he’s one of those rare people smart enough to withhold an opinion unless he’s got solid backing for it.

I laughed because he’s right. I don’t like arguing over something I don’t think I know much about or have experience with. I hate it when other people do. It’s pretty neat that someone noticed. I think.

But yeah! It feels real, so it is real. God dammit, kid. Next person that tells me to “get over it” I’m going to have Tori punch.

Anyway, I don’t know that it’s particularly common that folks figure out what’s on the other side of that sarcasm. I mean, people that spend a while around me all get to know my heart and dependability. This course is why I tend to laugh at trying to figure out other people too much, since it has been such a road figuring out myself. Along the way I’ve learned to not try to make everyone like me, and not worry too much when they don’t. As I told M recently, “I just often feel like I’m squinting at a star-ish shaped piece wonder if it’s going to squeeze into that space or not.” Also, fuck your context.

Strange, strange night. Short bike ride with the kids nearly to Georgetown then back to Belltown. Good to get out and do a few extra miles, even if it was only a few more than I do any day. Good to see old friends, have a few drinks. A little too much tomfoolery on my part, and I damaged my friends car, but things can always be fixed. It’s always interesting to come and go and see how the relationship status of girls in the group affects a social circle. I had to keep a check on my protective nature, actually. Anyway, home. It’s almost the weekend. I’m still planning on heading out of town alone. I could go to PDX with bike kids, but I just want to be outdoors and I don’t really have anyone else in that world. I want to say right now, but, I haven’t really. Maybe briefly J, but she was never comfortable with the fact that I liked her. Oh! Ran into B tonight. How, strange. She told me about her boyfriends bike and asked him to pronounce it for her because it was german. I’m glad she’s happy. They moved in together, and while that blows my mind in relation to my history, it’s probably perfect for her and, again, I am glad she is happy. And so it goes.

I attribute much of my life to working really hard. Not in the white privileged way where I think if everyone else just worked hard they would have as much as me. But in this way where I’ve always had a naturally strong work ethic. M commented last time I saw her about how amazing it is that people get up every day and go to work. I grew up listening to my father saying that is just what you do, even when you don’t want to, you get up and do what needs to be done. To some degree, I put what needs to be done before taking care of myself. I acknowledge that taking care of myself probably needs to be done.

I wake up some mornings and check my email extremely hopeful that something in the world has changed and someone has something meaningful to say to me. I’m almost always disappointed.

Plus there can be an overwhelming physcial feeling of lethergy, tiredness, and no energy. Then if you add SAD psychological conditon to the mix, it just amplifies everything. Plus you metion other undelt with issues as well which compound everything plus may introduce a sense of guilt. That is a whole lot to deal with….

A friend of one of my grandparents had some things to say about my fathers situation. This man doesn’t know my father. This reminds me that I was talking to a friend the other day about how my parents have never pressured me to settle down and they said, “even your father?” I don’t know what caused them to believe my father would care, but it took me a moment to realize they had no understanding of my father and had never met them. My friends that had always liked him and got a kick out of him. In any case, I feel like my fathers situation is clear to me.

Where does this sense of calmness I have come from anyhow? A few weeks ago I was really frustrated with a situation at work and I took note. I don’t recall the last time I was that frustrated with someone. Perhaps as far back as M? That feels so long ago. Time. In a couple days it will be two years since L and I became friends. I don’t know what to make of that situation. T and I were talking a little while ago about the people that you like that get a pass, that you care about them in such a fashion that rules and expectations that would apply to other relationships just don’t. It isn’t that you decide it is worth it not to, it is that a stop in your decision making is skipped by the express train to… literately (yes, literately) speaking, a tunnel.

It has been time to be outdoors lately. I can feel spring. It isn’t here, but I can sense it. I’m starting to admit my need for sunlight. I think I need to take more vacation than I normally do, probably more than I get. As I biked home from a volunteer meeting on Capitol Hill, I listened to Rancid on the spare ipod. This reminded me of a time I was feeling out of place at my grandparents house for my singleness and perhaps my lack of social connections. I went for a long walk, hours I suppose, long enough for the family to start to worry about where I was. Perhaps a call for attention? Hrmf. It was a long time ago.

http://www.nataliedee.com

I talked to J extensively today about what triggers calling someone “kid,” as well as when I would describe someone as a girl versus a woman. In general, light-hearted girls seemed to get called kid. It’s a term of endearment for people I have fun being silly with. Most of the guys I hang out with aren’t that silly. They’re building something. Seriously. Or sometimes just drinking. Seriously. Actually, I don’t have time right now to spend another hour writing about something I just spent an hour talking about. I do want to jot something down though. While discussing this, we touched on the value systems on my friends and cohorts; they tend to be close to mine. However, there is a line across which there are my friends that I might describe as colleagues. These are the friends that create, perform, and do things I think are interesting and worthwhile. I don’t know that these intersect all that often.

Therein lies the catch. When I tend to meet a girl I like, it is usually because I have made a slew of judgments about what is generally important to them, and find the results agreeable. Thereafter, what do they care about? What are they excited about? Are they going to try to convince me to go camping, hiking, or on a road trip? Even better, what of something where I’m truly along for the ride? So very rare to not get to be the ‘kid’.

Also, women go to dinner parties.