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I am so effing old

I shouldn't have a basement. Or bookshelves. It's too distressing. This morning I was cleaning up down there (two contractor bags of block styrofoam, two garbage bags of peanuts, uncounted boxes) and put away some tools as well. My big old pair of slip-joint pliers dates from the Carter administration. And on the shelves books of the same era. Paperbacks, fercryinoutloud. Mixed right in with stuff "only" five years old or so.

I mean, at least I'm not my parents, with paperbacks from 1797, but time sure has flown.