I like to build.

I always thought I might, but never really had the opportunity. I'm ok with a hammer. I understand the term "square" and operate one mean tape measure. It's even in my blood. My grandfather has worked as a carpenter and just recently completed an addition to his house. But yet I have almost nothing to add to my own building credits. Other than prefab furniture, the cupboard is empty (is that a pun?).
As previously mentioned, I recently spent a week building pews for a church in Mexico. Even though I worked up to 11 hours a day in the Mexican sun (sort of like the Arizona sun, but spicier) I found that I was enjoying myself. Cutting wood....excuse me, lumber. Sanding (the DeWalt rotary sander is my personal fav). Drilling. Sanding (Did I mention I spent one 14 hour period over two days doing nothing but sanding? My wrist is still a little "loose"). Fashioning pieces together with screws and glue. I found it all quite pleasing. The pleasure was greatly accentuated once I saw the finished product and that it could actually be used for the purpose intended. I sat and it neither wobbled nor collapsed.
The result of this revelation has been 4 trips to various Lowes/Home Depots in the week following my return. It's very odd. Those places always bored me to tears but now, instead of seeing useless tools, I now see instruments out which book shelves, patio tables, Feng shui rock gardens, and grill caddies can be borne. The thought of finding myself in the garage with saw dust flying seems almost romantic. I'm really not sure what happened. Maybe I'm trying to reconnect with my manhood in this expanding climate of gender-neutrality. Maybe I need more fiber. Or maybe I just like to see some tangible evidence of the fruits of my labor. Whatever it is, I can't get the idea out of my head. And once that "power tool dam" breaks, I'm not sure where it will end. Of course, I might wake up tomorrow and forget the whole thing...but dangit!, I like to build.