Stuck In Stride
Sticky situations still give me fits.
If you get stuck, draw with a different pen. Change your tools; it may free your thinking.
Cool Story
Life is sticky. Personally, I find being sticky annoying. In fact, I cannot concentrate on anything while I am sticky, even driving. Of course, I try to get over that to the best of my ability. I try and get over the stickiness and the awful sensation it brings, especially while driving. I can do an adequate job, though I find my mind pulling me back towards concentrating on the sticky.
I dealt with this recently, so it’s at the forefront of my mind. That strikes me as odd, as if it was a legitimate traumatic experience. I was staining a large deck and was finishing the bottom steps, so I was almost done. I had done a decent job being neat and not making too many mistakes. With stain, however, that never lasts. I was surprised it had lasted as long as it did.
It was a new can of stain, I ran out the day before and we needed to grab one more gallon. This meant it was thin and would slosh. I must have become accustomed to the more congealed predecessor because I was moving quickly and some stain flew out from my pail. I placed the pail on the steps, which I was using to hold a smaller amount of stain than the actual gallon container, and went to quickly brush the stain into the wood so it wouldn’t penetrate too far as a puddle and give it too deep a hue to adjust for, and my arm caught the container.
This sent it tumbling down the stairs and sent the stain all over the steps and my pants. That’s not much of an issue, now I have dedicated painting pants. The problem was the much larger mess I needed to clean up and quickly, it was hot out. I cannot allow the stain to penetrate in a puddle, I cannot recreate that artificially and it would be much darker than the rest of the deck. Additionally, stain is the sticky of stickies. My goodness is stain annoying on skin.
Somehow the thought of having mismatched steps and main deck had me concentrating almost completely on getting that stain brushed in evenly and I was successful. It also helps that this isn’t my first rodeo. I lose concentration often and have to clean up my own messes. I have also stained many surfaces and many decks. Big decks, small decks, small decks that look like big decks due to trimmed hedges. Many immature jokes. Just, a lot. I have spilled many containers of stain on many surfaces. I know exactly what I need to prioritize in these situations. I haven’t, however, spilt any substantial amount of stain on myself before.
Mostly because it’s expensive.
After the stairs were cleaned up and well stained, my mind shifted immediately to my newly stained britches. Panic set in, though I would classify it as a mild panic. There was more to do on the deck and I wanted to get done that day, but I couldn’t reframe enough to get past the sticky nature of stain and the fact the pant legs were trying to stick to my own legs. Considering the hairy nature of man legs, this was wildly uncomfortable and at times painful.
I called it a day and packed up, though packed up isn’t entirely accurate. I simply took everything I had, made sure the gallon of stain was adequately sealed and out of the sun, and threw the rest haphazardly into the bed of my truck. Once I confirmed I wasn’t going to stain my cloth seats, I climbed into the driver’s seat and headed home.
During that drive I had to fight with myself to concentrate on driving instead of concentrating on the sticky nature of my legs. I found myself drifting on the road several times, though not to an extent which was dangerous. If it had continued it would have been dangerous, but considering I was aware of my hate for sticky things and my propensity to only think about that, I was able to catch drifting far before it became dangerous.
Cool Story Bro, But What Does It Mean?
I found it odd at the time that I had to force myself to concentrate on staying alive as opposed to being sticky. I still find it odd, though now I may have a pathway to an answer.
Life is sticky, though in a different way. It isn’t physically sticky, it’s mentally sticky. Writers block is one sticky portion we run into from time to time.
Recently I was fortunate enough to be offered a way to concentrate on finishing my book. That is exciting, I am still excited about it. At the realization I was going to be able to get it done, I started brainstorming on the best, most efficient way to do it.
I was in stride, then life got sticky. I haven’t written anything since getting the news. That’s not something I want to admit, considering those allowing me to get it done also read this substack, but I am transparent to a fault. If there is a fault in it, that is.
But why did it get sticky? It got sticky because it’s life. That’s what it does and that’s what it will always do. I do not say always lightly. I hate that word. Always is always a mistake, except this time, but you get the point. It’s a trap to say or think “always”. Always is bullshit, except when it isn’t.
It got sticky because I got into my own head. I allowed things that are outside of my control to control me instead. Just because you cannot influence something doesn’t mean it cannot influence you. It can and it’s because you make it an influence. You manifest your own misery doing this. I manifested my own this weekend. Because I’m dumb sometimes, it happens.
I have also written about not trapping yourself inside of a box. Don’t make yourself a mime if you aren’t one. They tend to get paid, even if it’s not much. They also, generally, have an audience. When you put yourself in a box, not being a mime, you’re not getting paid for it and you don’t have an audience.
You’re just a crazy person.
My box? The brainstorming session and the restrictions I put on my writing. When I am unrestricted I gravitate towards the text editors. I have several I use and I love all of them. I just click and type, no thinking involved. It’s wonderful. When I set deadlines and word count goals, my mind is equally blank, but my fingers are paralyzed.
That’s my box. I keep making that mistake. It has worked on a few occasions, but it can only work when there’s an external timeline I must meet, never my own somehow. It’s as if I rebel against myself.
I got stuck in stride and I have paid for it all weekend.
Cool Story, But Does It Wrap Up Neatly?
This understanding struck me as relating to the stain on my pants. I have to write to live. I don’t NORMALLY eat my words, figuratively, but I have from time to time. I don’t LITERALLY eat my words, so it’s not necessary for survival. I can be alive yet not live.
The stickiness of life, much like the stickiness of stain, took my mind away from survival. I had to force myself to focus on living in both cases. In both cases I made it out alive, thank the Lord, but it was a struggle either way.
Be aware that life is sticky, and be aware of the sticky times you run into.
You need to focus on living while you cannot do anything about that sticky feeling. If you don’t it may cause you to veer off course. Sometimes you may be able to correct for it, other times it may end in disaster.
Avoid sticky, but plan for it anyways.
Love,
Dad
By the way, I have an email address. Odd, right? With a fun domain (the website isn’t set up, though).
dad@dadexplains.life
Feel free to reach out with questions, comments, concerns, consternations, conservations, compliments, complaints, cummerbunds, and anything else.