On broken glass and freedom

Yesterday I cleared my workshop of almost every trace of my existence.

I say ‘almost’, because I left my ex-colleague something to remember me by:


This is a box of broken glass bigger and heavier than you can move around easily, and less substantial than it would need to be to pick up and pour into smaller containers.

I wouldn’t normally be so schadenfroh (something like bitchy), except he’d written a notice in the usual dustbin to say I shouldn’t add anything to it…


There’s something very therapeutic about the noise glass makes when it breaks. It’s better when done purposefully, and even better than that when hurled into a box in the knowledge that you are not only doing what you promised (clearing up) but also creating an annoyance factor in the process :).

All that’s left to do now is hand in the key and I can shake the dust off my sandals (or boots in this case) and be done with it all.

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