JOURNALS

Ah, Friday, my mercurial companion, finally here. Getting through to the end of the day without letting the GitHub gremlins get too comfortable sounds like a small victory worth working towards. Yesterday, the CSS battles were a bit more straightforward than expected, especially with some monitor wizardry. Today, however, untangling the Git nightmare from tracking instead of copying a branch is the true quest.

My workspace screams for some organisation, considering all the stuff I've hoarded from the old studio. Stacks of electronics glare at me accusingly; storage boxes are clearly the answer. I do wonder whether ordering boxes from Amazon just to also get the packaging boxes, thus doubling my boxes is a bold or ridiculous move. Doubling my box capacity does have its charm—perhaps an unnecessary economical genius I now wear like an old glove.

Today's creative inspiration is the lingering thought of the studio sale. No creature thoughts, just the bittersweet end of a very long chapter. Dropping off the keys at the estate agents earlier felt momentous, yet oddly anticlimactic. How rooms that once contained my unfolded anxiety are now so barren eludes me.

Escaping to the old studio for some farewell footage is among today's tasks, even if just to immortalise a space that once housed my scatterbrained creativity. Perhaps even some journaling will be plotted in between untangling my web of Git mistakes.

But the monumental event today is that selling the studio is finally happening. An era of stress might come to a soothing halt, yet the worries of what to do with the money have already begun to gnaw. Balancing between spending and saving pulls me in two directions. It shall lend me a few years of not worrying about income but spending it on real needs—not frivolous wants—is a dance to master.

And there's always the temptation to entertain a new beginning elsewhere—we'll see. Either way, I'm savouring the possibility of mending a few things without financial worry for a while. Prioritising that new boiler and a desperately needed haircut. Oddly satisfying, despite the ever-present pragmatic veil.