As I write this, I’m trying to clear the back of my office. It’s a small room, and it has a weird L shape to it. Because it’s small and a weird shape and of no use to anyone else, it’s the room I adopted as my office when we moved in, more than thirty years ago. Thirty years of people dumping shit in this room at Xmas because nobody (but me) would see it. Clearing it out is like digging through the geological strata of our time in this house. Here’s her broken watch from twenty years ago. There’s a painting by my daughter she did for me when she was two and I immediately stuck to the office wall. There’s the promo sheet for the comics series I did before she was born. There’s a whole life in this stupid little room.
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