I was born on the first day of Fall. It should have served as an omen, coming to existence on a day that symbolizes the most fundamental change – life to death. The leaves turn colors because they cease to live. They fall, in every sense of the word, and are swept away by a shifting wind.
I woke up this morning, realized I’d forgotten to take my medicine when the alarm went off six hours earlier, looked around at the boxes full of moving junk, the suitcases I still hadn’t been able to unpack, the dishes, the living laundry pile (his name is Hugo and he’s started sending my husband ransom notes demanding Thorlo socks), the knick-knacks stacked one on top of the other on every flat surface in the house, the trash needing to be taken out, the carpet needing vacuuming – nay, shampooing – the car needing washing, and the eight books needing to be written, taunting and daunting from where they stared at me from my still-open computer screen…. And I realized I needed a change.
I’m tired of working so hard.
It’s been a lovely week – MRI’s, numb legs, speeding tickets, rude cops, husband overseas, daughter who has fought me ever step of the way, looming deadlines I feel I’ve no hope in hell of meeting. This day that should by all rights be a joyful, celebratory day, started with tears and a sense of hopelessness and all-too-familiarity.
So now I take a slow, deep, shaky breath and I let it out with a decision.
I am going to throw at least half of this shit away.
I’m cleaning out my closet, I’m sweeping off the flat surfaces, I’m selling my car. I am making a chore chart that my daughter will stick to or I swear to Odin, I will send her to boarding school. I am going to kiss goodbye to all of the things I thought I needed and hopefully say hello to the one I actually do need: Time.
Nothing like a birthday to remind you of how little you have.