Restless Bones

I like lists. And I like chaos. The kind of chaos present in a house full of family, a few neighbor kids, ten projects, a meal and music all at once. And quiet, the kind where you are so far into creating something, reading something or thinking that the hours float by unheeded. But in between those is a discomfort, where time goes by just as quickly but it comes with a fear of waste, and an inability to move. Dissatisfaction with life clears its throat and fails to mention my own part in the equation.

That is where the lists come in. A place to wrangle all the things I'll be glad I did, that I must do, that will drag my brooding feet into one camp or the other for a little while.