54/365 – The urban nomad

The ancient Lands' End bag on the left has my tax stuff, the newer one in the middle is my day job stuff, and the "Kiss in the Village" bag on the right is for overnight.

The ancient Lands' End bag on the left has my tax stuff, the newer one in the middle is my day job stuff, and the "Kiss in the Village" bag (my translation of an obscene French slang term) on the right is for overnight.

I ran from the car to the elevator, the minutes ticking away until midnight, but loading Vista is so frigging slow that by the time I launched this post, it was three minutes past. Then I remembered my “day rule” – it’s still Monday to me until I go to sleep.

I had left Jane’s thinking,”I have no picture and nothing to write,” but as I put my bags in the trunk of my car, I saw that that would be my shot for the day. This also gave me something to write about, my baggage. Well, not that kind of baggage, although I do have things I carry around from my past. More on the order of doing three or four things with my time, and having a bag for each: my tax job, my day job, my Catholic class (the God bag), and for overnights. There’s still one more, for freelance assignments, but that one is temporarily on the shelf – the proof for the book I’m copyediting is too large for a bag. Hey, why not throw in a recyclable grocery bag or two?

My nomadic existence in the urban village will not continue for long. Soon I will live in a home instead of an apartment, and the overnight bag will be for trips. Tax season will end April 15, followed by the culmination of Catholic classes. I will have one bag come June, and be a nomad no more, but rather a curator of antiques and art and books, a settled-down man who can then let his mind roam while his body remains at peace.

As Lewis Carrol put it, “Oh frabjous day!  Callooh! Callay!/He chortled in his joy.”

 

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