It's a tough job, construction. There is the labour aspect of course, twelve hour days of hauling, shifting, piling, hammering, cutting, moving, lifting, bending, and so on.
It makes for long days, especially with the weather turning colder. Not only do you have to fight off the chill in the air, but you have to do it through a sheen of work induced sweat. It's easy to get sick.
That being said, it's a good, honest job. I love the satisfaction of seeing a project come together. I also love the camaraderie of the job, the rough and tumble teasing, and egging on throughout the day, and everything forgiven and forgotten conclusion by the time the beers have been poured at the bar once the day's work is done.
It's a good job, a challenging one that lets a man grow stronger both physically and mentally.
The thing is, it is a man's job that resides in a man's world. One of the last bastions of testosterone and masculinity. Don't get me wrong, I'm fine with that. As a man myself, I am a good fit. The difficulty for me is that I love men. I even love some of the men I work with.
That is the secret I carry with me to work each day. They are none the wiser, but if they found out, things would change. I would no longer be part of the team; no longer just one of the guys at the bar.
It's a burden to carry with me, but I don't mind the double life. Each aspect is as much a part of me as the other.
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