I witness the onset of an unforgiving winter for the first time in 3 years. The last time I was here for the whole slow death-march through shivering icicles days, I was dating someone else. No memory what I was doing. Studying all kinds of things in Portland and recreationally taking drugs with friends. Cold walks between apartment buildings and dorms. Chill in the air could reach sub arctic levels. Back to the present. Leaves changed and fell. That brief transitional phase where we must look back on summer with a half-smile nostalgia. A nostalgia like a funeral with no comedian in the family, maybe the one that used to tell all the jokes died, and then the wake with no booze. Here I am recognizing the death of summer and fall and my uncle. Here I am with strange, ornate heirlooms passed down to me. Here I am without adequate describing words for these deaths. I choke up and falter.
Splitting migraines begin with a blurry tunnel vision. It becomes difficult to focus on singular objects. The onset of the migraine is a metaphor for the winter chill. Slight pain to deal with at first, the end of an era, the end of blissful, painless brain. It feels like wearing somebody’s warped prescription eyeglasses with tiny strobe lights surgically tucked under the corneas. Peripheral vision is lost and sounds that are normally easy to identify become cacophonous. It is dizzying and absurd. Frustrating to deal with and full of fatigue.
The migraine continued though I did not stop working. Struggled through to the last box. (Work at an independent distillery doing odd jobs, hired on as an extra hand when the more menial jobs are to be executed, to free up the workers who know the more intimate and chemistry set related aspects of the creation of booze. Today I moved bottles from boxes to place them into smaller boxes. These bottles were empty. Then I took bottles full of whiskey from small boxes to place into large boxes. Labelled the boxes and stacked then in five rows of ten on a great big palette.)
I had an epiphany about work ethic earlier that I cannot recall.
Here’s this now though. If I can push through those boundaries with such low battery work and country music soundtrack then there is nothing I can’t accomplish. No task more daunting. Now go do or go die.