Building 19

My soul is dying in building 19 of the first federal armory. It’s the epitome of hundreds of years this system we call civilized, modern, necessary, and sometimes still deeply derailed by dumb debates about the Oxford comma.

This building, as long as the Prudential building in Boston is tall, housed big stuff like wagons full of horse shit, the horses and cows and all the things needed to support the people building guns and ammunition.

It’s quiet there most days even if there are lots of people around. Something about the brick, concrete, and glass both holds 248 years of sound and absorbs today’s.

A mighty fortress ish structure. Worth appreciating for what it was and is but not from inside the thing every weekday. Five days a week in an office – even the most spectacular office – will crush my soul before I get my first measly paycheck.

I’m not wired for rules without end and I think now that I’m seeing state workers unions from half inside, I see how easy it is to make them seem like utterly useless layers of more rules that don’t fit everyone’s needs.

Reserving judgement for a while about the union but I did join and pay my dues so it’s an experiment. Hope it’s not too costly for me.