A day of very little

Got absolutely nothing to do today, so I thought it might be a good time to get rid of stuff. Realized that now that my good camera is gone for good, that I can probably get rid of the attachments etc that belonged to it. (We were robbed twice in six months.) I have clothes to go through and discard. Probably a bunch of other stuff, once I start looking. There are three copies of my play that no longer match the final draft. There are tapes of my bear kids that I should at least put together in a box to edit our whole lives when I retire. I should think about what is important these days. I still seem to be collecting books- all of which which probably should be gleaned at this point. The Writers' Group I've dropped out of, had this odd X/Mas party thing of giving each other books. I have a stack of books on my nightstand from people I don't really respect as writers. Why am I keeping them? (Well, a few I will keep- from the one or two people in the group I did respect.) I have Mrs. Dalloway and "The Culprit Fay" and a very short reproduction copy of Charles De Kay's novella about NYC artist types in the 1880s waiting for me. The Culprit Fay If you are curious- early Americana. Also, Helena De Kay's grandfather for those who are aware of my hobbyhorses. The trouble with being well off is having room to collect nonsense. Happy Memorial Day.