Ran five miles for the first time in weeks and it was ugly. I can deal with the new creaks and pains; it’s my mind that kills me, the constant looking at my watch until I remember how to forget about time and accept the grind of hauling myself around. This feels like a kind of mental training for dealing with this terrible year.

Fifty minutes later, I collapsed in the grass and thought about what next. For some reason I flashed on an aluminum ladder, the long days spent cleaning out an attic stuffed with my childhood belongings as well as the things my mom and dad once owned. I liquidated dishware and stuffed animals. I condensed my Reeves history into a small wooden trunk that my great-grandfather made. Tonight I’ve opened it, and I’m sifting through postcards with elegant handwriting, a pair of brass bookends, and a small velveteen box with my parents’ wedding bands.

These things seem connected. The perpetual letting go of plans and assumptions. Maybe even stripping away and seeing what remains.

Plastikman – Converge

Consumed | Minus, 2003 | More