Kitchen Table

I watched the sun kiss the dawn this morning. I checked my messages from the evening and replied where I could. I then checked my blood glucose and started pressing my finger to this screen. You’d think my days were more important than this, but usually aren’t. I sit here and prod away at my silly manuscript or I write some silly little notes of encouragement. Like some old granny at the kitchen table fretting over her children. 

We worry so much about purpose and meaning, and I suppose those things are important. But in the grand scheme of things, can that drive overtake a deeper purpose? Like watching your family grow or the rising of a new dawn. Maybe I’m just being silly, telling you stuff you already know. But in a way maybe I’m just reminding myself of the value of just living. 

I don’t poke my head out much during the summer. I find it hard to stay hydrated. Who knows what really causes that, I mean I could blame it on any number of things. All I know is I dry out like a needy seedling in the spring. So I stay contained in this dark room, keeping out the light to stay cool. My family frets over me like a sickly child, which by the way kinda pisses me off. But I deal with my limitations and begrudgingly accept them. 

But the words and the thoughts, now they give me room to breathe and dream. Now purpose may not be all that important. Neither is legacy, I mean do you know everyone’s headstone in the cemetery? Life has meaning all its own. It has purpose, it has drive. Maybe not at your pace, but just enough to keep the dreams alive.