Late last night I was looking for something. A small cardboard card that I needed. I had to dig through boxes and bags jam-packed with memories. Photos, letters, concert tickets ... all from a previous life. Several previous lives.

Each plastic bag or torn envelope shrouded thoughts that I hadn't considered in months, years...if ever. I flipped through photos of me and my siblings as small children years before we developed the neuroses that keep us at eachother's throats.

I sorted through stubs from shows that I could barely remember attending and yet I could recall with precision the outfits I had worn and the drinks I had ordered.

I re-read letters that had me bawling just at the sight of the handwriting and I sorted through ratty piles children's drawings - unable to weed even one out. It was hard going. But really a very important exercise or exorcise.

So many different experiences make me feel a bit fragmented. Indulging in a good weep felt rather nice and it surely did help me sleep. One thing I can tell you is that growing up is very sad. Children know this. Teenagers forget about it. 20-somethings ignore it. And then you have your 30s and up to mourn your terminal adulthood.

Fuck me, I am a downer. Tomorrow I go to Saltspring Island for a very much needed break. I hear the air is much fresher when one's head is pulled from one's ass.