So the boat finance broker wants just about every bit of paper I've accumulated in the last two to three years, corporate and personal. Surprisingly, I had much of it filed away in my apartment, but the 2000 corporate and personal tax info was missing. I guessed (correctly) that it was in my storage space, so I headed out to Cherokee County, Georgia after work.
Now, this is the commute I had for several years -- twenty-three miles through some of the worst rush-hour traffic Atlanta can throw at a person. I spent over an hour driving in heavy traffic, through construction, and dodging semis. I used to do this twice a day...what the hell was I thinking? My 10-15 minute commute today has given me almost two hours of my life back (which I turn right around into playing computer games, Tropico being my latest addiction.)
Back to storage. I'm crawling around in my storage space, dodging spiders and falling items I forgot I even owned. I'm laughing to myself at the irony, as I had just agreed yesterday to being interviewed about the convenience of storage spaces, and I still have yet to fill out the questionnaire. It'll be fresh in my mind. I found the tax returns...along with a book I'd been missing (LA Noir, James Ellroy)...and a box of japanese soup bowls....
This storage space is one exit away from where I used to live. I debated swinging by the old pad, but I was strangely put-off by the idea. Next week is the one-year anniversary of my separation; something that has been heavy on my mind the last few weeks. I'm not exactly depressed by it -- I'm fairly happy in general these days. But. It's probably a good idea not to push it.
I'm sure I'll be introspective next week as the day rolls around. For now, I'm going to have a celebratory vodka martini at my favorite haunt.
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