I was in my garage in the middle of the night, thinking about selling everything and moving from Minnesota to Chicago. My job was starting to suck, and I needed a change of pace. There was no one around, but I wasn’t lonely. Still, I wondered why I always found myself in my garage at times like these. Soon, I realized that, of course, my mother committed suicide in a garage, and so garages mean something more to me than they do for most people. Garages are life and death.Since I was very young when my mom committed suicide, I only remember what she looked like because of photographs. I have to admit my memory of her would be pretty different otherwise.
I decided to take a picture of my garage, which I think helped me get it together and go back inside for the night. By the next morning, I was ready to go back to work.