Thursday, December 16, 2010

Dusty books are calling - answer in their language

Around this time of year, when we prepare to put our shoulders to the work of winter maintenance and construction projects, when the holiday preparations beckon more readily than the Dockyard, that I usually take several weeks off for myself. Of course, this just means that I'm going off on my own to play in different parts of the forest, still doing things relevant to NHS - I've come to grips with the idea that I am, in fact, fresh obsessed with the subject matter. And so this week, in the time I spend waiting on other people at work, I am preparing for some research at the National Archives in Washington DC.

I will not go into detail about the object of my research, except to say that it involves a scheme more hair-brained than any other I've concocted thus far, and not to worry, Monomoys 2 and 3 are my first priority when it comes to execution. But in terms of planning, I'll be focusing on the "master plan" for the next several weeks and accumulating vast quantities of knowledge in order to prepare to prepare to plan to begin my biggest shot in the dark yet. Be afraid.


Yesterday I was out in the Framing Bay, surveying our foul weather preparations and repairing a little minor tarp damage from the winds thus far encountered this year. I am increasingly impressed and terrified at the durability and prospects for destruction, respectively, of the tarp tents we erected over Monomoys 2 and 3. They've held off 40 knot wind gusts, snow, ice, rain and the Dockyard dog Zaphod, whose temerity in getting where you least want him can only be experienced first hand. However as they continue to impress me with what they can withstand, I fully realize that with each passing day my luck grows thinner and thinner, and I live in full expectation of their crashing down at any time. If my luck holds out a little longer, maybe my anxiety will keep them upright and in good order.


I've noticed that after reading page after page of manuscripts and small smudged print for hours on end that my writing takes on a tone particularly characteristic of those works, and that my best efforts notwithstanding, I've begun my regular process of assimilating into the world of my work little by little until I'm completely engulfed in a lifestyle where I remain duty bound to fight a duel with anyone who insults my honor. Realizing you're slipping into the abyss is the first step in being able to appreciate the last remnants of normalcy, I think. For now, I beg leave to report my judicious use of time in the interests of my current employment hereto and the requirements of my service to the government, and renew and reaffirm my commitment to preventing burnout where and whenever it should present itself or be perceived to lay in the offing...

Crap. Anyway


I leave for DC on Sunday night, notes, laptop, digital camera and portable scanner in tote. Sunday and Monday night at Sturiale's Ordinary, between which my schedule is governed by the opening and closing of 700 Pennsylvania Avenue. Between now and then I am sorting the notes I already have and formulating the master plan for the research this visit. Belay your petitions to stop the insanity - this train is already rolling. Hobos welcome.


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