Letters in the Caverns
I was comfortably seated in an armless chair, not under distress, hands unbound, eyes closed. The chair was in the middle of a dark, damp room. I was sitting with what I believed to be intention, listening for God to tell me what I was to do. What plans He had for me.
A Million Easy Things. Everyday. All the Time.
This has taken longer than anticipated to write, but everything takes longer now and far fewer things matter. I am currently holding a screaming miracle in my arms. She has a pacifier hanging out of her mouth like a hand-rolled cigarette, as though she weren’t ordained by God but rather by order of the Peaky Blinders. I am the proud father of said gangster, and as such would like to recount our misadventures and jot down a few reflections thus far.
Unpacking my Mind
I am not a frantic man. Anyone who has ever spent more than half an hour with me would likely confirm this with conviction. However, were they to spend half a minute in my head, they wouldn't believe it was the same person. It's as though a kindergartener was given the responsibility of organizing my thoughts, and they simply jot everything on a sticky note in crayon and toss it into the air. They don't use nice, small crayons either. They exclusively use the giant ones whose only redeeming quality is that they aren't a choking hazard. This child has horrific handwriting and even worse working conditions because it is incessantly windy. When I am having a conversation with someone, I pluck the closest one I can out of the air. Eight times out of ten it is a joke (three times out of ten it's a good joke.) This makes me a likable person, but it doesn't fully reflect who I am.