The Imagined Life: The Storage Shed

It was nothing super special or grand, just a neat, tidy square. Concrete floor, windowless wall, a row of lights on the ceiling. From the outside it looked like any old building, other then the many individual locked doors. It stayed naturally cool and dry (the wonders of old architecture), but I still had everything on shelves or risers, and covered with tarps or plastic - protection from above or below. It was my past and my future rolled all in one after all.

Is a storage shed really just a storage shed when it contains a lot of what you hold dear?
At what point does it become an archival treasure trove?

Since my abode was mobile and moving, my address changing by the month, the storage shed was one near my childhood home - easily accessible by my parents if I needed something from its well organized walls. From there I could pull supplies when needs arose, and deposit items that were not currently useful.

I knew this new life of mine wasn't permanent. Just as my old life was changed by surprise circumstances, I knew that anything could eventually change my feelings about my new vagabond existence. That, and I just couldn't imagine being 80 and still traveling full time. So the shed was my compromise, my tether, a little bit of roots in an otherwise gypsy existence.

[... and here is where the writing inspiration left me! According to Big Magic, I left this bit to sit for too long and the idea headed out to find a more worthy writer. Alas, I'm sharing it anyway!]


The Imagined Life is fiction, a world of my own creation, explored through small, everyday things and experiences.

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