The bank sent me a thick stack of papers to sign for the basket full of cash I need to silence the hungry bird mouth bequests in mom's will, with a slice left over for fixing up the house.
This seems like the final spade of dirt on the coffin of my footloose, bohemian old life.
But as it lands atop a plot already mounded high with a cascade of previous shovel-loads, it seems somehow less disturbing than today's other project- ripping all my CDs and trading in the husks for credit at Boo Boo's.
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