The appliance store delivered the dishwasher; the plumber hooked up the water in and water out; and the electrician powered it. Yet, there it sat, half in and half out of its cubby, waiting for someone to ease it into place, adjust the feet and level the orientation, screw the brackets to the countertop, and install the plastic guard and metal toe kick.
Well, today that someone was me. How frustrating. How ultimately satisfying!
During all that time on the floor, I meditated again on the ratio of time spent mending things to time spent making things. Is this where my creative energy gets spent? Hmmm. I felt sorry for myself and all my quotidian concerns for a few moments and then answered my own question: “Not entirely.” This task is simply more finite and results observable than writing or research or teaching. And immediately useful! Finally, a working dishwasher.
P.S. The title of the post is an homage to a wonderful one-actor play, I Am My Own Wife, performed by Philip Leal, which I saw with James Black in Houston in 2007. If I recall, we were the best audience members that night: engrossed, moved. The Houston crowd seemed polite, yet perplexed.