I’m furious. Work is on the screen before me. There’s a deadline. I could edit an article on an auto part manufacturer in my sleep. Maybe this is a dream. Reality will arrive when I wake up. This moment of fantasizing surprises me. I stand up, leave my desk, walk to the kitchen, prepare myself another coffee, and while I wait for my cup of caffeine I find myself imagining or remembering something relaxing, even inspiring. A neighbor of ours in the San Juan Islands, who’s been renovating what three years ago was a derelict cabin, comes to mind, and I see him, as I recall seeing him when he came to the island for the first time to see the old cabin, yellow notepad and pen in hand, determined to discover if it would be possible for him to bring the old structure back to life. He’s doing so, in what seems to me a methodical manner. Over beers, on summer evenings, after long hours of working on the roof, on the deck, or on the plumbing, he’s talked about the frustrations and doubts he’s often had. Yet he’s always seemed to have a plan. He knows what the next project will be. I must envy him this self-confidence in his own rational abilities. He has years of experience in construction. Somehow, this last sentence leads me back to the present. I’m at my laptop, ready to return to the task at hand. These sentences haven’t been manufactured. I must finish editing the article about an auto part manufacturer. Reality often isn’t enjoyable. I’m building something today. It’s an inner construction project. I’m trying to bring my mind back to life. Sometimes it becomes a daily task.