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That last was taken at 8:20pm New Year's Eve. I wrote this shortly after. I used my pickup. My Jeep is still filled with the record albums (in the third to last picture) because there just isn't anywhere in the house or garage to put them. There's a plan for them, but it's not at the very top of the priority stack.
So many things tied to so many phases of life. This space is going to be used to say farewell to some of them. I decided that's the best way to go. Yeah, yeah, there's a lot to say about THAT, but who has time.
2 comments:
And going through this crap, I have boxes and bags and reels of electronic components left over from design efforts and even my master's project fifteen and more years ago, whenever it was I kept shit. I don't know why I kept these things except out of a vague idea I'd need them for some invention that was surely just around the corner. Properly sorted and marketed, they might even be worth some money. But is it worth a hundred bucks to go through and try to sell them? I seriously doubt it is. So I'm left with:
* Toss them all into a box destined for e-waste.
* Sort them by appearance into "art supplies" and, I dunno, make hi-tech-lookin' body adornments (hats, brooches, earplugs or whatever the fucking things are called).
Every now and then I see some cool arty thing made of cast-off technical things and go hey, I could make that, I have the stuff! But, gah. Time. Space. Weight. Psychic burdens!
Time is running out... there's significantly more behind me than in front of me. Yet, I sit and do nothing. And I never cared less. Very strange.
But I am self-publishing a story series. It doesn't feel like doing a lot, for some reason. I had expected so much more of me at one time.
The empty storage area appeals to my aesthetic sense.
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