Junk. I have so much junk. A lot of it is easy to part with, but some of it is personal stuff and I stop and think, “Oh, I should keep this.” But then I think, “For what? What good does it do me now? What good will it do when I’m gone? Who’s going to want this after I’m dead? It won’t mean anything.”

I mean, it’s not like I’m going to write Beethoven’s Ninth or anything. There won’t be a cottage industry in things I owned and people won’t be trying to find my burial site. I’m not a primate, baby, I’m a dinosaur. No evolutionary improvements are going to come soaring from my bones, that’s for sure.

And in my head I’m hearing the song, “The rocks, in time, compress your blood to oil, your flesh to coal. Enrich the soil, not everybody’s goal.”