Aspiring to be a hick

The minstrel has finally found gainful employment. While not too terribly gainful, it involves being outside all day providing the low paid slave labour required to run a playground for rich people. I have to get up before anyone in their right mind would, engage in hard ( well , at least relatively taxing) labour as the sun comes up, and spend the day under said sun tending to very short, groomed fields. Plus, i get to play with large-ish motorized equipment. In some respects, it seems a lot like farming.

Now, some may have observed that i am not known to be overly enthusiastic about the working man's lot, but, as i sat on a grassy field idly picking weeds out of sand, and getting paid for it, this really isn't all that bad.

I seem to be very powerfully affected by the atmosphere of my surroundings ( sometimes going to far as to change continents to attempt some change in myself) and the office jobs i have been doing...my intense dislike may have had a lot to do with spending the majority of my waking hours in a florescant-lit, climate controlled excercise in functional blandness.

Here, though from the start i was hot, sunburned and bug-bitten, at least the air is moving, i'm under the unobstructed sky, and there is water, and ducks, rustling leaves, rippling grass, a pleasant excess of green, and butterflies- seriously, they're everywhere. I may form the opinion that no job could ever become entirely tiresome as long as it continued to allow for frequent exposure to butterflies. I would gladly spend my whole day in a place like this even if no compensation were involved. I wanted to get out of the city- this almost works. Even on three hours of sleep, i feel quiet, rested, surrounded by living things, alive.

Which, given recent events, is good. Nice to play with feelings other than pain and regret.