Breathing Drywall Dust

Breathing isn’t easy when the air is filled with dust

Opened the door, sat on the floor, didn’t ask for more. Time is of essence. Scrub the walls clean, change what I’ve seen. So unlike me to intervene before it’s unfixable. For some reason it’s when the air is full of dust that I feel that I must breathe deeply if just to cough it up later and inhale so deep that my lungs start to shriek and ask that I’d keep away from this place that I am. I ignore them of course, instead of fighting the source, I exhale with a force, hoping the dust will come out again. But longer I sit, soon followed by sick my lungs have a fit, but I still don’t notice. See, I’m too enthralled by the problems I’ve solved, the rock’s I’ve dissolved since I started to work. But what I forgot was that rock that I fought is now what I’ve got in my lungs, on my tongue. The dust in the air, that’s all in my hair, it doesn’t care that I need to breathe. In fact it’s relaxed and adapts to the air. It seems that it just might like it up there—in the air, and my hair, so unfair, and so ironic I thought I had control, when the goal of the soul of the whole was to be set free. I aided the dust, foolish to trust, and now it seems that I must do something about it. Sweep the walls down, and ignore the sound that begins to resound. It sounds like it hurts. And it just may, but that dust has to pay, for it isn’t okay what it’s done to me today. Now there are piles, could be miles and miles of piles, not in styles or files just piles. Coughing and choking, my lungs, I’m provoking, might as well be smoking, it couldn’t be worse for them. So sweep the floor, wash the door, then I pour water on it. Mop, and then wax, and try to relax, while I wait, it retracts. Or maybe evaporates. Needless to say, it’s the middle of may, and today is a day simply perfect for cleaning. Or sanding. Or mudding. And I’ve done all three, lucky me, now you see, why I started to write this. And I’ve learned a lesson, that some aggression is just messin’ with things that I’d rather not experience.  Like coating my lungs in drywall mud.