by Angeli Suarez Quijano(the rants and raves of the frustrated wife of Rennan Quijano!!!)These are excerpts from a journal describing the life of a wife of a phjunk.Phjunk ( fudjâ€™unk) n. sweet as fudge clueless semi- professional camera freak ; from the words photographer and junkie, someone who dabbles in photography and actually spends more than 50% of waking and sleeping time in photography but is in denial.Donâ€™t get me wrong, I love my life, I love my phjunk, but. . .I thought turning fifty was the ultimate in maturity. It was actually just the beginning of my woes in life. Suddenly everything had an underlying meaning and an unspoken purpose. Like the day I thought I would do spring cleaning in the middle of this hot humid summer. I had a goal, I will attack and sort out the guestroom closet. I bet your guestroom closet has some Christmas stuff, old files and some musty coats. Mine is something else. It contains partly (the rest is all over the corners of the rest of the house) my phjunkâ€™s junk. Now, he will not admit thatâ€™s what it is, but what do you call several tripods â€“ actually monopods, bipods, tripods, quadruplepods , â€œcentipod. A wonderful â€œbagâ€collection. Small bags I presume for lenses but would be wonderful for crayons gradually increasing in size-the bigger ones would be wonderful for my knitting- the best ones have multiple pockets that go around the waist like one for tools- this would be wonderful for my kitchen gadgets that way I can cook with all my instruments within easy reach! Rolling bags and back packs. Or the vest with all the wonderful pockets â€“I could go to a soccer game and have different snacks in each pocket! Not to mention the camera and photography magazines I had stuck in there several months ago during a cleaning frenzy. And wires, lots of wires and more wires-do they actually connect to the wall, to something or to each other??? I close the doors in a hurry, I close my eyes and sigh. I think I will clean some other day.