trying to sort out my numerous belongings, i went through a couple of boxes today and came across a stack of papers from bookbinding school. suddenly a need to make books again washed over me, and i realized i do miss it after all. i have kind of kept it pushed to a corner of my mind for years. it's not a great passion of mine, nor do i want to be a professional bookbindress, but i like going through the motions, the neatness and precision, the finished product. i should finish something. i know i have blocks bound up somewhere. and chipboard cut to size.
i fear i may have forgotten it all, though. looking at my notes, there was so much i did not understand, terms i didn't comprehend anymore. but i think i know what the above is. replacing a cloth back. it's a satisfying task when it goes smoothly and absolute terror when it doesn't. been there.
nostalgia set over me as well, because it was a time in my life filled with anticipation for the future, right before everything went to hell. my memories are bittersweet. i miss where i lived, my apartment was huge and i had a full bath. the radiator woke me up an hour early every morning with its loud bang, which drove me nuts and often caused me to sleep in, earning me the nickname 'late shift' from one of the teachers. i loved to stay at school after hours, when it got quiet. i miss the building, its view of the river, the old tools and equipment and all the papers to choose from...
everything keeps coming back now, i haven't thought about any of it in a long time, over six years. it was such a good time, even though it seldom seemed that way at the time. i really messed things up since, made poor choice after another, thinking i was doing the right thing. i wouldn't hesitate to back and change it all if i could.
i should consider becoming a student again. just drift someplace like i did back then. find myself in a peculiar small town, doing something odd. i have to think about this. we'll see...
