“Remoted – Hybrid” – Day 803 (Saturday) – boxed in, going long

Front yard irises.

The day began like every other day – relaxing with coffee. There was a brief tour of the front yard irises that are now popping open. Then there was a trip to the spare room to look for some specific photo prints needed for a specific purpose. 

The spare room visit led to a lot of rummaging around and countless incidences of finding high-quality empty boxes. Small ones, medium ones, larger ones. As I laid hands on each, I remembered saving it with thoughts like “this could be decorated and used for a gift box,” or, “this would make a good shipping box,” or, “someday I’ll probably move again and this is perfect for [insert item]”.

Half the previously empty recycling bin was filled with various boxes from the junk room. It felt good. Almost. It’s shocking that I was able to put a bunch of perfectly good and functional boxes into the bin. There is also a suspicion/fear that as soon as the recycle truck drives away, there will be a clear, immediate, and desperate need for at least one, if not all of the boxes. There is also the ever-present and underlying worry that a pile of empty cardboard boxes could someday be all that stands between me and complete and total financial ruin.

I’m blaming genetics. The best guess is it was seeded by the maternal grandparents who fled Finland during an economic upheaval and the threat of conscription of Finnish males to the Russian military. After some 35-ish years of those ancestors working hard to make their place in America, the Great Depression descended. The family scraped by, and some of us descendants have been scraping by ever since, because apparently that is how we roll. It’s just reality. If all it took was hard work to be well off like we were led to believe by the imaginary "American Dream" (and not "good connections" and politics), my family, friends and I would be rolling in dough, property, and riches. 

In any event, it seems that the ever-present fear of financial ruin is baked into my bones and is a reason for the constant state of high alert about wastefulness. It seems there is never a moment to relax, and the recent stock market movements that are tanking an adult lifetime of retirement savings have made it worse than usual. It's probably time to grab a second job just to be able to sleep at night (not that there would actually be time for it).

Go Long.

There is a good chance I’ll be rummaging in the recycle bin under cover of darkness to rescue the magic boxes that could be my lifeline sooner than later. And I'll probably never have a functional guest room. 

While these deep-rooted, potentially irrational fears are ruminated upon, there is time to enjoy a cold, crisp, refreshing Finnish Long Drink. It's the drink from the land of half my people. It's also damned good. 

As for the photos that triggered the day's neurotic episode? They weren't found, and may not even exist in its currently imagined form.