It’s happened before.
Last time, the tears filled my eyes and spilled over the broken shards of all my shattered dreams as they lay splintered on the hard-tiled floor of my new hard-won, respectable existence. I’m a little better off these days. This time it was just a shrug and trip to the hardware store for a tube of Titebond.
Last time, I had a pro patch-up by the formidably talented Mike Cox (if you’re in c-bus, look him up.) This time, I knew the scars were to be permanent and unavoidable. Time to embrace the beat-down/beatific patina of warts-and-all life and DIY.
As long as I can keep on pickin’, it’ll be alright.