A real quick post right now.
I have a special collection. On my desk is a moth. A little writing buddy who I don’t talk to, who doesn’t talk back, because well, he’s dead. Rather dead. He’s been dead for goodness knows how long. I’m afraid if I try to move him, he’ll get all powdery and fall apart to dust and pieces, like the last moth in my collection. It was a pretty pink specimen, but before I knew it, it was in little bits all over my desk.
I have a collection of old rags. Yesterday I had a pair of old jeans that I wanted to do something with, so I sat down for about three hours and made a cruchy-chewy, hippy-dippy cell phone holder to hang on my belt. I’m actually quite fond of it, but it sure took a long time to make. I’m either a very patient man, or a man with a terribly inefficient sense of time.
I have a collection of index cards. I scribble things on them, and throw them back whence they came—an animal cracker box. They’re rather handy and I’ve taken about a year or so to burn through most of this current stack.
What quirky collections do you have?