Built a Box

Wandered into my workshop two days ago with an unspoken, undefined need to build something. Gathered up various pieces of leftover lumber and glued and fastened them into usable boards, and built a simple, but interesting box, 12 inches by 20, with a lid. I used a pair of leftover hinges to attach said lid, which doesn't quite close, because the wood used to make it was a bit warped, so there's a slight gap between the lid and the front of the box. Doesn't matter to me because I have no intention of locking it. I used two types of wood, mostly pine but darker oak accents, so it's sort of attractive, if I do say so myself. I won't put any stain or varnish on it because it's not going to be out in the elements and my inner urge turns out to demand a rustic unfinished look. It's going to sit quietly and unostentatiously in a corner of my living space.

Once the box was completed, I had to wander into my subconscious to decode the next step of the project. I realized my purpose is to use it to hold print copies of my various writings, as many as I can gather. I understood that having them all in cyberspace is unsatisfactory -- first, because if something were to suddenly happen to me (more and more likely as time goes by) the stuff might be forever adrift in the ether, because passwords change and the people who I have entrusted with them might lose them or otherwise not have access (presuming they had any desire to do so). Even though I know in my heart that all human accomplishments are transitory at best, I still want these assemblages of my time and thought and sweat to be accessible and to last at least a while longer than I.

The more solid reason for building the the box and filling it with paper is a rewarding and concrete one -- I like the smell and feel and heft of the box and the texture of the paper, and I like seeing the writing down on said paper, not to mention the satisfaction of watching the pile get bigger as I find and print more and more of it. Finally, there's a sort of romantic feeling about it all, the idea that my survivors going through my stuff and finding will find the box tucked away in a corner, open it with a sense of curiosity, and (ideally for me) rummage through it all with a growing sense of, "hey, some of this stuff is pretty good." There's not much more a low-key writer like myself can ask for, since it's increasingly unlikely I will be getting any of this stuff into a formal format.

Simply gives me a feeling of accomplishment and promise and, again ideally, maybe some motivation to get back to writing again. In the meantime, if you'll excuse me, I have to get my clunky printer moving and convert a lot of stuff into real readable print; including some, but not all, of my blog posts.