Since returning from vacation, I've sort of been working on the house. We have way too much stuff and it needs cleared and organized. Last night I was sitting on the floor of the living room sifting through a box of old magazines and papers. It's something I hate to do; it leaves me emotionally spent. Perhaps this is why it never gets done. Finding a stack of long expired business cards welled my eyes with tears. Today I tackled another trunk filled with useless memories. Under the first layers of outdated spare mac parts and manuals lay some of the last vestiges of my previous employment: reams of greenbar computer paper and stacks of Billboard magazines. Reports, data overload, financials for a business long gone, a calendar with in-store appearence dates marked, upcoming release and concert information, a Chris Isaak backstage pass, charts scribbled with circles and stock counts, it was like a music retail archeological dig. Most of it will be gone when the recyling is picked up, as if Pandora's Box had never been opened. Sometimes I wish I could erase my past, other times I enjoy a good cry or a hearty laugh. I guess I should be thankful that I can remember it at all.
