It seems a consequence of writing more than a handful of lines about a being is that I find myself in a Relationship with it. The library in which I work is going through a process of renovation. In comes Kreepy Klown Klan Kid with the Pink Fruit. And apparently today, out goes a collection of student architectural models that were lined up on the top of bookshelves. I did my usual walk-around to the windows when I noticed what was going on. Most of the models had been torn apart and stuffed into garbage bags.
I’m attempting not to be a hoarder. I keep my relics to a minimum, and I now wonder if my grandmothers heard the same thing. But the model library (with a bit of water staining, and missing windows) spoke and I listened. So now I have an architectural model of a local renovation that was never completed. The relationship between it and I isn’t quite over, although it’s certainly likely to change now that it’s no longer something I go to when I’m working off energy during my work day.