Hatchet Coming

 Getting up each morning now involves a minimum of three wheezes and an audible groan along with the clickety-clack of some knee. A random ankle. Left or right? It varies. As I end up on the wrong side of middle aged I am still alternating between personalities. My friends have locked into personalities.

The bourbon guy with endless $80-dollar bottles of brown that he will never drink.

The technologista guy talking about crypto and AI.

The vintage gal able to find lovely dresses and kitchenware from the leftovers of the Rust Belt.

The motorcycle guy.

The positive affirmation lady. I cause good things and good things will come to me.

The collector. You pick what but just waiting for the market to turn on XYZ thing. 

I don't have a locked in personality save the anxious guy. The fussy guy. My wife tells me "You seem to only operate when you can worry."

I dabble in all of the above. Maybe not affirmation but I try to get that "heart" reaction on chats with friends and colleagues and always searching for that high. 

Recently, I found myself sharpening my hatchet. Which, considering I own a hatchet and varying small knives rated from everyday to kick ass, along with a sharpening block, that maybe I am a knife guy. A blade master. That sounds bad ass. But, I suck at sharpening. Another fine motor skill lost on my stubby hands. I am able to get big burrs out and I guess they are sharper but I want the immediate bite against my thumb as I feel* the blade and have them slice through the newspaper all the knife gurus have laying about their workspaces.

My hatchet lives in the trunk of my car. Which contains many items I consider "emergency needs" but could also quickly pivot into "enterprising serial killer"***.

There is the hatchet. 

Then the wrecking bar. Not a crow bar as its not hook but a solid shaft of iron painted deep October goldenrod yellow. It has a bladed wedge tip on one end and then a slight curve at the other end. 

Then two sets of jumper cables. A portable tire pump that runs off the car's cigarette lighter** and two pairs of work gloves. There is a roll of paper towels and armor all wipes. A roll of duct tape. A bag of N95 masks and sand paper squares A 50 foot extension cord and then the tool box. In the tool box got the usual stuff plus a headlamp I stole of a low voltage electrician, wire strippers, Sharpies, extra strength sticky squares, electrical tape, utility knives, voltage testers, random screws and a can of WD40. 

In my previous line of work I bounced between sites and it was nice to have tools at the ready. I did find use of all of these in a K-12 EDU setting even the hatchet which the trio of fifth grade boys deemed "awesome." 

To, I guess, my credit, all these items have helped at some point. I did once help jump someone's car in a random lot out on Green Road on east side of Cleveland suburbs. The wrecking bar helped with moving furniture and prepping for bulk pick up day. That is my tool box now. Our normal one buried under boxes yet unpacked from our last move. Its a handy little space in the back of the Honda Civic.

Maybe  I am the problem solver guy. Always worried.

*I wanted a stronger verb here but everything I came up was too suggestive even in context. Caress? Finger? Stroke? 

**I can't call it anything but that even knowing it is not the power port.

***Listing it all out for the post it really is suspicious. I am one pair of women's underwear and pair of heavy rubber gloves from being rolling probable cause.