Sundry developments

Last night I dreamed strange dreams. A story-dream, actually, about a girl being sent out from some fancy school to face a giant because she'd discovered something the Board of Management didn't approve of. I begin to suspect that the sleeping tablets (which have been a major help in actually getting to sleep: last night it still took me about two hours to drop off, but I guarantee it would've been two hours more without them) are responsible for the consistently more-vivid-than-is-usually-the-case dreams the last few nights.

Although today I managed to emerge into full consciousness (well, almost full consciousness) by 1045. Signs that sleep hygiene practice is beginning to work?

This morning I discovered menstruation arrived overnight. At last! (But couldn't it have held off another day? Cramps and shelf-building are going to be funsies.) Laundry is on. Plates have been cupboarded. Knives have been dragged through the sharpener. Breakfast was a carton of fruit juice. Anthro book has been read. Now all I have do is read another one and get more wood.

Shelves. I built them.

See the shelves in that picture? I built them. From scratch. I cut the planks to length – for only the third time in my life using a saw – measured the heights, nailed them in place, put some more nails in when the first nails looked like they weren’t quite doing the job, bashed my thumb with the hammer, and stuck wood glue down the worst of the gaps.

It’s not perfect. It wobbles a little, a couple of the shelves are slightly slanted, and I need to put one more plank in place tomorrow (I’m too tired tonight to finish) and finish the edges with sandpaper. (Maybe, in the summer, I will varnish it. Probably not, though). But it does the job, or will – probably – and it cost, including tools like the saw, which I had to purchase last weekend, less than an equivalent set of shelves from Ikea, and at least a third less than pre-built cabinetry. (Okay, so the cabinetry has somewhat better structural integrity and shiny pretty finish. But still.)

No one ever taught me how to do this. I decided I want to try. And that meant learning by doing. With all the terror and flaws and potential horrible failure modes that implies. (My mother helped when I needed a second pair of hands, but she didn’t believe I could do it. In fact, her first reaction on learning of my planned attempt: “You can’t do it! You’ll never be able to do it! No!”)

(One would think I was seven, and not coming up on twenty-seven.) (Also, hell, am I really coming up twenty-seven? When I was seven I thought I’d be queen of the universe by twenty.)

The success of this project hasn’t been proved out yet – the proof will come tomorrow, when I hammer in the last shelf-plank and test the others with the weight of books – but it doesn’t seem fragile. There is tensile strength in inch-thick pine and two-inch nails…

Anyway. I don’t want to say that it’s gendered, learning how to build things. But I think my mother’s mental resistance to the idea of my building-competence is at least partly gendered, and I think my lack of experience with banging shit together is also partly gendered: female persons are subtly culturally discouraged from learning to do stuff like Hang Shelves or Build Shelves – not only in formal lessons, but informally. That could just be my impression, though.

In conclusion: I built shelves!