My short time in New Mexico has already taught me unfathomable things about life. I've learned about Navajo culture, school politics and the rules about the P.O. Box.
And I've learned about drilling.
Yessiree, I am now the proud (if reluctant) owner of a power screwdriver and drill. After some (mis)-adventures with the drywall, I have drilled, screwed (and hammered, because I broke part of my one and only drill bit in the wall) five sets of curtain rods to my house.
I even constructed furniture. Real, sittable, usable, not-broken-yet furniture! And I did it with my own bare hands (and my trusty power screwdriver). In the past week, I have constructed four dining room chairs, four lamps, one end-table, one entertainment cabinet and one oscillating fan. (And I repotted two plants). My friend Joan built the dining room table and my other end-table, but I couldn't possibly impose on her to build everything else. My thumb is still sore from turning too many screws and I have four gashes on my fingers.
But I am proud. Because before last week, I had never used a hammer, let alone a power drill. Before last week, I would have defaulted to my father or boyfriend for help, and I probably would have done so again if they had been around. But I live on a mesa on the Navajo reservation and Daddy is not here. And that's probably one of the many, many points to all of this.
(That said, all the pretty nostalgia and insight won't help me sleep any better; After my first attempts at drilling and screwing, I still fear that the drywall around my bedroom window will rip off and plop onto my bed in the middle of the night....)
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