I’m a keeper and a collector, especially of sentimental mementos. My (these days declining) love of physical books is connected to this. It’s exactly why I’ve dragged dozens of boxes of them every place I live. (Bookshelves are a whole discussion!) And it’s also why I still have every love letter I’ve ever received.
Which, I’ve come to realize, is silly — especially now, when I’m seeking a simple, small life. My goal in retirement is minimalism in everything. Clearance! (Going out of business!) Everything must go!
Quite some time ago, a friend commented that I hadn’t put anything on my walls — that years later they were as blank as the day I moved in. They’re still blank, at least twice as many years later.
Just about all of 2012 is in my rear-view mirror now. It joins well over 50 others, most of them so far back they are lost in the mist and fog of life. My car moves forward at its full legal pace: 24 Hours Per Day, just like the markers say. (You do not want to be pulled over by the causality cops for violating the reality limit. The fines are truly Lovecraftian.)
Logos con carne 