Will someone remind me why I'm sweeping silt and sifting through moldy textbooks from the 30's instead of renting a crappy studio?

I'm feeling twitchy from not painting. I am making progress cleaning, but it's hard to tell.
True confession #1: As some of you may know I have been moving and packing stuff at one place or another since mid-March. I'm over it. The deadline is gone, but I still need to clear space for my stuff when it arrives. In a moment of "quick what else can I throw out NOW, I grabbed 2 large paintings from my art school days- like the very first ones I did-and instead of ripping them up first, I just loaded them on the van, stretchers and all. They weren't bad paintings, but I have been feeling particularly unsentimental and overwhelmed about the generations of stuff I have to sift through around here. Art I did in kindergarden, high school, and college is no exception. And yes, my mom kept everything I made. Everything. So I get to the dump and as one of the workers unloaded the van, he commented what a nice painting it was and he kept it. I didn't tell him it was mine. It was a nice painting, but a) it was student work, b) I wasn't going to show it and c) I wasn't going to sell it. I'm kind of glad it didn't actually go in the dumpster, but I still feel strange, like maybe I should have hung onto it for posterity. Meanwhile, I'll have to take solace in the fact that some guy who's job is hauling trash has a decent piece of contemporary art on his wall and is probably chillaxing with his feet on a coffee table he also rescued, smoking a fatty and drinking a can of beer. I'm cool with that. I think it was also signed. oops. I shouldn't be so rash.

By end of week I want to post some new work, which would mean I need to make new work. I could probably find 6 cubic feet of relatively "clean" space to work in. I have paints, I have a couple of brushes and I have canvas. I kept thinking about Pollack today. He worked in a barn. I haven't visited the PK studio, but historically artists have hardships and less than state-of-the-art studios. I should be able to work around a few buckets of silt, spideys, and termite-eaten wood, yes?

I'm tired and going to bed. A friend asked me if I was scared being in this house by myself and I said no, not with two dogs, but monster truck dog just whined and it sounded like a door opening and I jumped. Fang is holding steady and even eating dog food again. The guy is like a supersoldier.