I begin typing these words at 6:30 am on the dot.
Tulsa time. Mid-December.
I am in a pitch-black guard shack, feeling toasty from the small heater purring behind me. I hear the sounds of an idling train across the small street from where I am.
The guard shack is positioned at the gate of a large compound. A compound that holds large warehouses. The large warehouses are full of forges, presses, and heavy machinery. They make hooks here. Little ones and big ones. The hooks attached to the cranes that build skyscrapers are built here.
Sometimes I will sit next to the ones almost as big as me and pretend I have been made tiny. Similar to how I pretended to be a giant when drinking from those tiny communion cups.
It is dark but still, I look out the dirty window in anticipation of the sunrise. It is my favorite part of the job. And since winter has set in, I get a sunrise and a sunset every shift. And they are good here in Oklahoma.
I have debated putting music on, but I rather like the sounds of the train. the rhythm of the engine, the occasional hiss, and the sound of shifting wheels. The trains are my second favorite part of the job.
I work two days. 6 am to 6 pm. It is rare that I see anybody. Hardly even cars down this little road. There is a homeless camp on the other side of the train tracks, but I hardly ever see any of them. If I do see someone, I just wave. I hardly have to use my voice at all.
Maybe this is my real favorite part of the job.
I spend my day watching crows. And the occasional group of dogs. I have stumbled on a rabbit or two, and am pretty sure I saw a fox yesterday.
I listen to podcasts. I read some. I walk the perimeter every two hours.
Sometimes I think about my college degrees. Sometimes I am confused by the trajectory of my life.
How did I end up here? Where am I going? What do I want? What do I need? Will I ever get either? Do I already have everything?
Why is the world so beautiful that it sometimes makes me sad?
There is a brush of orange along the horizon now. The silhouettes of trees, power lines, and buildings in the still gray pre-dawn.
And everything is okay and not okay
all at once.
6:30 a.m. - 2022-12-18
Recent entries:
The side effects of thawing. - 2023-03-16
Everything in between - 2023-02-22
Not Much, You? - 2023-01-29
The Precarity of Poverty - 2023-01-22
Tempted - 2022-12-29
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