Busy day at The Asylum. Two hundred prospective residents touring the facility.
Which is good.
Because, in a way, The Asylum is a Ponzi scheme. We require a steady stream of younger residents to support those of us already here.
I can only hope the elevators were on their best behavior.
My sole accomplishment today was a ten-year kitchen inventory.
I pretended I was moving.
What would I take?
What haven’t I used in ten years?
I cleaned filters, corners, and the mysterious spaces behind things.
Conclusion:
I own six dinner plates. I use one.
I own eight wine glasses. I need fewer than that.
But six plates take up the same space as two.
And when the time comes to close the kitchen, eight glasses will be just as easy to dispose of as two.
So I got rid of very little.
But I did clear the countertops.
Progress?
Now that my Physician’s Orders for Life-Sustaining Treatment is completed, printed, and posted, I see them every time I leave the apartment.
A daily reminder of my personal impermanence.
Nobody is promised tomorrow.
Still, it’s a bit… direct.
And finally, tulips.
Still trying.