I think it’s safe to say I am never playing Jenga again. Three weeks later and every single day, I am still stacking giant wooden wooden pieces and breathing in ALL the sawdust. I am surrounded by people who look like huge human highlighters, bound with cheap silver bands, shining bright in the sun, as if taken from a home-made space suit for a school play, which if humour were allowed on the mill, would be quite funny.
All this repetitive, mindless work is giving me the space to think and realign. I have been living as if on a conveyor belt since I left Melbourne; just heading towards the next place or finding the next supplies. Now, I have a temporary but somewhat long-term base and eight hours a day of lifting, and stacking, and playing along in this factory game that has become our lives; giving me lots of thinking time.
Dingo is great for reflection, but it is lacking in things to challenge me intellectually, spirituality, except for my own secluded thoughts; there is no-one here to ask me what I believe in, where I stand, what I care about. Damn, I doubt one person at work even knows what I studied, what I want to do with my life. Doesn’t matter, so long as I can stack wood.
Usually when I get to a creative block or want for a subject to work out my values, I look for conversation, or the internet. I have neither here, further than the usual “hi, where have you been in Australia so far? What country are you from?” Or occasional 500mb of free WiFi.
I hold the red crystal tree sap, like rubies twinkling in my palm and watch as nature is cut and sliced into bitesize chunks around me. As if there is a way to contain her, tame her.
There is nothing deeper or more useful than this and the small town vibe can sometimes be stifling. But who am I to complain, a little offline time never hurt anyone, right?