Each Breath is a Paycheck

As I pack

I have a box full of old iPads, laptops, cell phones, and even one of those Amazon things, that was never worth a damn for writing anything. There are two desktops besides the one I now work on collecting dust within eyeshot.

I still have my last “pro” digital camera kit, also doing nothing for a decade now. I am packing for nearly a month out of the pinelands, where I have been pecking out these bits seven days a week since November, not missing a day, intentionally.

I thought about buying an up-to-date laptop for the trip, but I am taking two books instead. I can, when I have an internet connection, follow the feed on my totally obsolete smart phone, and put up an image or two if I am in the mood. But tomorrow’s post will be the last from just east of the Lakehurst gates to the Joint Base, as most of you know by now was made famous when the Hindenburg burned and crashed there.

This agency of one, will be mobile from Sunday on, paying a fortune for fuel, which I have been not burning much of since returning from California in 2021. Right now, the house is rumbling from large rounds of something coming from the base. The sound of freedom? Profiteering?

The pounding went on for another half hour. I checked the bird feeder: there is a ground hog in the large flowerpot that sits beneath it. This Agency of one will be on the road again. Life during wartime. I’ve got to finish packing.