Threading my way through this apartment to find the bathroom in the middle of the night is an exercise in stumbling, stubbing, cursing and kicking.
Walls are bare, boxes are stacked, guff and stuff sit in piles everywhere.
Outside? A much better take on messy– fields loaded with wildflowers, beach roses spilling over, branches bending under the weight of so much green.
It would make me happy to be able to really write to you, to capture all that is happening here in my days right now– all the strange combos of emotions and experiences that seem to be stacking up, one on top of the other like so many planes outside O’Hare– but, it would require me to focus and I simply can’t.
My mind is soft and mushy and it needs to stay that way until a week from today when I wake up in a new home. I need to stay soft and mushy because it’s the only way I can function in the face of chaos when I have no energy to sort and organize. I have to give over to the mess and keep stumbling about with a coffee cup in one hand and a bottle of bug spray in the other. Somehow, it will all shift and I will be on the other side of all of this– and for the time being, I am okay logging it into the memory files under hazy, confusing, mixed-up and out of focus.
Some things will stand out for me all by themselves.
Like the first thing I saw when I came out in the wee hours this morning when letting the dogs out: a single orange poppy had bloomed next to my chair.
Oh, but they’re such my good buds.