Pardon the mess, it’s just the inside of my brain. You’ve arrived at a consequential time for me and I haven’t had the time to put all the belongings into their rightful place and order.
This pile here, atop what used to resemble a desk, is all my pending work tasks—the ones at the bottom over a month old. Over in the kitchen, this disarray is where I collect all of my home related things. As you see, the junk drawer holds, “Call the shade installer,” “Look up glucosamine supplements,” and “Find a better place for the Sodastream.”
In the heart of the living area is the jumble of my relationships, a pile of body parts. The ear of my mom, for listening to the chaos and whose call I have to return. The pointer finger of my dad for his accusation of missing his birthday. The palm up, “Stop” sign of my inner self reminding me to pause, slow down, and remember my divinity, stillness, and truth.
On the porch, are my running shoes—sorry you tripped on them when you arrived!— dusty, beside a study about the precipitous drop-off of muscle tone as we age and a mishmash of the area’s workout classes.
So, you’ll have to forgive me if I can’t pause to look you in the eye right now. If my fingernails have created a series of half-moons in my clenched palms, if a fistful of chocolate chips is a reasonable dinner, if my sleep cycle is a jackinthebox poised to awaken me at any moment.
Because, do know: There’s a robot vacuum on its way.
And a bed frame. And a holiday break. There are boxes unpacked so I have my favorite bread knife again, designated desk space, and a re-organized medicine cabinet.
Help is on its way. I’m taking the action—some areas more slowly than others—but the pile will get unpiled, the sneakers will get sneaked, and I will learn anew what it’s like to let myself be human.