There are piles of papers and files and notebooks and drawing pads and photographs which sit on the kitchen table. Today is sorting day and I am tired, having worked nine shifts in a row with one more tonight. Six of the shifts were twelve hour shifts which are never really JUST twelve. I am exhausted. Reading back through posts, I cringe.
An Edward Jones retirement calculator has shown up in the detritus. I flip down through it calculating "if I save this much between this time and that, then..." It is put onto the save pile.
An autograph book of Chuck's from 2000 floats to the top of junk strewn across my room. I sit on the edge of the bed and flip through its pages before carrying it into the kitchen. There are Chuck and Sam on a schoolbus, going on a field trip. Chuck has that sad look in his eyes. He is ten and a little chunky. The book will go into 'his' sterlite box, marked "Chuck". There are times when I want to grab the past and pull it to me and not let it go. But change and time's passage are inevitable. Perhaps there is a beauty in that.
There was something that I wanted to say, something very profound but the only thing going through my head is a Steven Wright joke, "all those who believe in telekinesis, raise my hand"...
"Everyone thinks money is the answer, but happiness is the answer. Money just lets you pick your own kind of misery...I really think it comes down to the simple things--the dog and my wife." Bernie Brillstein. The Little Stuff Matters Most: 50 Rules from 50 Years of Trying to Make a Living.