Dry Erase, intact

A few years ago, my wife and I moved into my aunt's house. She had suffered a stroke a few months prior, and it became evident she would not be able to return to her house in the foreseeable future, so we rented it from her son while we searched for a home to buy one day. She left behind a lot of things that were important to her, and for the most part everything was eventually put into various storage locations throughout the house and garage, but there were a few simple things that I hesitated to disturb.

One of these such things was a tiny white board she kept on the far end of her kitchen near the coffee maker. It contained a dozen or so scribbles of appointments and phone numbers including the visit she had planned to the doctor's office the day she ultimately had a stroke. For some reason it felt like a cryptic reminder to me that the things which concern us are very temporary, and just as new owners of your house will one day decide to wipe the previous owner's white board clean, so too will our slates be cleared as well.

Then I come to look at my current white board, and it's a horrid mess. There are scribbles on top of hastefully written phone numbers, addresses, and to-do lists that never really got done anyway. It's almost illegible, but it's somehow a very accurate description of how things have been for me lately. The fact is that I haven't felt very intact, and that's somehow the most perfect word I could find. I even mumbled it a few days ago briefly after waking up and noted that it was the first word I uttered all day. 

It's getting better though. The semester is almost over and I have most of my Christmas shopping done. How cliché to write that. Christmas shopping is one of the last things on my mind, and I write it down on my list of grievances like it's somehow that heavy on me at the moment. 

Manifestation: I want to go out west. I'm going to go out west again, but this time with the family. We are going to drive with some direction but let our hearts be our guides. I need my son to experience that. 

Something is calling me again.