I've spent the last two days moving house. I vacuumed my old room this morning, these are the very last items left on my floor:
(It's almost impossible to avoid these residual objects, right?) As I was packing all my things in to boxes, I felt pretty sad. Endings are a killer, but they're necessary. And without a doubt, the activity itself (of packing all of your belongings) is charged with some kind of emotion.
being busy is old news, why bother talking about it? I don't want to be someone who has no time, who needs to plan for everything. I think most of my work exists in dead-time, arbitrary time, gaps in time. This blog is easy in that respect, it's comes out of in-between times. Easy time. And here, I want to give my time, which is probably the only thing worth giving.