Solution 2

OK… I'm getting up in seven hours in order to fly five thousand miles, and all evening I've been writing code over a shoddy VPN connection. Why on earth do I work so much? Actually, don't answer that!

Time for a nap!

Posted at 2005-11-10 15:13:57 by Richard • Link to Solution 2
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Packing to leave

Packing for an extended absence is an odd sensation, comparable to the two times I have cleared my desks in the past month. I stalk around the house, scanning for the things I know I will need, trying to predict what I will want, and which make more sense to replace than to carry.

I keep coming across gifts from the past. A cardboard box decorated with stars; a paperclip in a jewellery box; a pencil from Clearwell Caves — Post-Its and photographs, pens and paraphenalia, tickets and the trappings of tourism. It wouldn't be right for any of them to go with me; they belong with the me who grew up in this house. I simply can't take that entire life with me — and I don't want to — so I take nothing of it. One has to split oneself like this, both practically and to allow room to grow. Maybe we leave ghosts behind us when we go.

So, I pack cables and ink, legal papers, DVDs I have never finished and books that I have, batteries, shoes, cufflinks. I leave behind the photographs and the posters, and expect that I'll think of them when the patterns match up, and the old world intrudes on the new; when someone offers to make me a cup of tea, or the cars fling white noise up from the wet roads.

Posted at 2005-11-10 03:51:08 by Richard • Link to Packing to leave
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