I should not be able to type right now.  I shouldn't be able to move my arm to lift my hand up to the keyboard.  My arm should be too sore to do anything but hang limp from my shoulder.  I think I have enough drugs to keep me going for the day, so I can actually get some work done and so I can do my most important job, keeping this blog up to date.  I should never have risked it.  I should never have overextended myself.  But I had a calling, a duty to attend to, and it could not be ignored, not even for the likes of all I hold dear.

You see, there was a work-party this weekend; a family retreat work-party, where the burly young men of my extended clan get together to perform the impossible, and make repairs to the beach house.  And being one of those fore mentioned, though not entirely burly nor indeed all that young, I found myself called upon to take up the hammer, to hoist the paint-brush and give my all to the task of putting the rickety shack back into working order.

The place has been in the family for my entire life, purchased long ago by my great-grandmother, and passed down to her children and to theirs.  I'm in the potential ownership hierarchy somewhere.  I think one day I might become the proud owner of a one eighteenth share, as long as it still exists and the tide has not carried it away or it has not rotted to the ground from neglect.  Not bad, if you consider the going rates for timeshares.  It is located on Hood Canal, that long fishhook fjord that is part of the Puget Sound.  I've been going there, every summer (and sometimes during the winter) since I was a wee one.  It is because of this place that I have the strong affinity toward water that I do; learning to swim in the waves, snorkeling, diving off the raft into emerald green water, diving to the bottom to find oysters.  It's why I took up scuba diving.  I owe a lot to that place.  It is a part of me.

Of course, it has nothing to do with my affinity to computers and programming, and it is the last place I will ever associate with work.  The only connection I have between the too is my sore arm, from holding it high over my head all day long, painting the trim.  And now that I am back at work, preparing to forge onward into the code, where the world of the machine will soon have my undivided attention, it is refreshing to remember that life does actually happen outside of the box.

Matt