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I keep my tax-related stuff, art expenses and so on in a drawer, which I believe to actually be a tardis. You know like the police booth Dr. Who travels around through time in – it’s not very big on the outside but once you enter, it’s infinite in size.

Today I’ve been pulling unending piles of stuff from that drawer in an effort to sort out what I need for taxes. I have 2 grocery store bags filled with stuff I don’t have any idea why I saved in the first place, and several files full of stuff I need to save but I should have organized. Memphis puppy pictures. A loop for closely examining mushrooms. A pair of vice grips. My university degree. Ear buds. A couple clawhammer bridges. My 2011 CARFAC membership. 10 or 15 pens that don’t write. My 2008 busking license from when I was a button accordion busker. On and on. My head hurts.

I’m writing this post in an effort to stall for a while. Maybe I should take a little break and go tie up a few trout flies or work on that banjolin neck, or try to finish up a painting or two?

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