Remember the little guy in "Blade Runner" who lived alone with Methuselah Syndrome and made genetically engineered toys for friends? That is what I am feeling now. Let's call it the J.F. Sebastian Syndrome. That's good. I like that.
The days rush by, the hours. There is a short eternity from sunrise to sunset. Long days speed by. I spent yesterday trying to organize digital files on two hard drives. Inane work. I try to organize chronologically, but that isn't always helpful. I name folders, move files, but there is so much that is random. I have kept so many things, recorded so much. It is overwhelming. And still. . . there is not enough.
Could I just throw it all away? Would I even miss it? Laws of Thermodynamics don't seem to apply. I feel I am creating mass, weighing down the world.
I should join a troupe of acrobats, a group of traveling dancers. I could play the harlequin. There would be only the performance, no record.
Where is that outfit? I should try to find that outfit.