That might sound good, but this is not just *any* free wood. This stuff is rotten. Sure, physically it might have some wear and tear as it's been stored outside for a few years, and I wouldn't recommend building anything you want to last with it, but the problem is in what it represents. My soul.
You see, I bought this wood at point in my life when I was happy and had a young family. I had things to build that my kids would enjoy and my wife would swoon over, saying "I can't believe I've married such a talented and handy man." Plans were hatched; the wood was purchased.
Then, as I began to build, the problems began. I accidentally cut the power cord to my skill saw, both metaphorically and in reality. That shit is hard to patch. The nail gun jammed. The rains came; the plans were put on hold.
The wood sat on the side of the house for the winter, covered that first year. Then the next summer came, and I had work inside the house to do...it sat for another year. When it was time to build the planters for the garden, I couldn't use the pine and fir; it wasn't stable enough to be buried in the ground. Just like my emotions.
Another year goes by and I leave the wood and my feelings open and raw to the rain and winds. All the sixteen-foot two-by-tens bowing to the weight of the repressed emotion and four-by-six PT posts. Eventually, as my feelings and sorrow were buried deep in the back yard, I moved the pile of slowly decaying wood under the tree hoping to shield myself and the planks from the relentless pounding.
Now, as my life has completely crumbled, I find myself moving. The wood has to go; it can't be used to build anything of value any longer. It might be useful for something temporary, like a one-night stand to hold the gate open while you wheel-barrow in a fresh load of dark-fir-mulch from Wood Waste Management. Otherwise, you might as well burn it in a giant bonfire; my tears and self loathing will only help to make the flames large and bright. The black smoke is my soul.