Mort and Morticia

I didn't realise it would become a 'thing,' spending that time I  Kutna Hora all those years ago, but now 'Mort' has a little buddy to keep him company.  I wonder how many more I'll add to the mix. I wonder when mine will be added to the mix.

It's strange being back in my own house, with my own things, my own chaos.  It's strange to slip into a pair of 30W jeans and realise it doesn't appear to be a fluke, that hastened weightloas of last year that picked up speed post-Covid. 

I've been working on a beautiful collection of family papers, with material going back to 1845. I love this part of my job, getting to know the people, their stories. But it can be hard, especially when you know a sizeable chunk of the story is painful. Have stepped back from the story for 2 months, I feel renewed to take it on again. Refreshed and fully ready to make the connections and finish the repackaging (cue my Friday night bliss of ordering archival porn whilst the watching Ginger Rogers and Ray Miland wooing one another). To be able  flesh out the sub-fonds and levels, hone the connections feels appropriate, having taken this time away from work to be able remember why I love it so much.  To be asked if I would consider staying on was unexpected. I don't know which way to turn but that I am not ready say goodbye.  To be able to nurture the growth of something when I am winding something else down, another person's life feels very strange, even when I know it is life and life's nuances. 

Those moments Harvey Pekar told us about, the ordinary ones really are the most complex. They resonate more, stripping back the need for secrets. Maybe that's why this article resonated.