Splitch. splotch. the milk dropped in my coffee like a cannon exploding into a waterfall.
The morning was grey and held silent promises of household chores. This farm seems stuck very much in the pioneer days. The wind whistles across the thresh as I gingerly step in the kitchen grasping the day late newspaper. Yes, the newspaper comes a day late in this part of the country. Don’t they say, “A day late a dollar short?” The mail sadly is just a handful of ads and newspapers, more ads than newspaper I daresay.
The day holds a dirty house that needs cleaning and a whole lot of alone time. Time, that binds the human heart on this earth. Time, that slips unbearably quickly once you notice its there. Time, once you have a goal seems like, what was the point anyway?
Its melancholy. Its a lonely road, this life. We may be bound here on earth for a short time but soon we will be down the path to our selected afterlife. Do you ever wonder how your actions will effect that route? That path of fortitude or condemnation?
It keeps me restless, sometimes. St. Augustine once wrote, “Our hearts are restless until they rest in you.” So, there is no escape from restlessness. No pills. No magic massages. We are here for a reason, however small or big. Many saints have shown us it is not how much we do but how much love we put into what we do.
This is a great contemplation for me in my life now as it seems to be drastically limp with my upcoming surgery. I am having my foot sliced open like the watermelon we pick in my family’s fields each summer. Sorry, didn’t mean to get to graphic there. So, I’m stocking up on books and movies and looking into learning a language.
Though this surgery is apparently going to fix part of the problem, when it all boils down to it, I still have a very large neurological problem that is growing into a bigger issue. Uggh… medical problems are such a hassle. And so hard to explain. My TBI has been the death of many of my friendships. It’s grotesque memory deficiency making any relationship difficult. My mood swings take over my life.
So that’s it. My waiting to get cut open like a watermelon.