Making lists – love ‘em. Currently I’m counting down my top ten biggest screw-ups from the nineties. Up next – the “no’s!” of the “00’s”! They’re painful to look at, once the wax paper of ego is pulled back and things focus into said time and place. I try to visualize these scenes with fresh eyes, omnipotent, arms crossed, a ghost leaning against the wall.
Step Eight: Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
It’s not so much the words or actions I’m tuned to. It’s auras. Senses. The overall mood in the room. I’m reading vibes fresh, not pickled; not through the eyes of me then. Red bursts of shock and hurt. Yellow fear fog on linoleum. A strong gust of awkward pushes through every so often. Looks of concern passing between loved ones, friends, coworkers, gas station attendants. I’m often mean for no reason. That’s the take-away.
It’s an itemized pieces list of the vase I dropped. Getting the big shards down proves easy. But it’s the little ones that can slide under my fingernail and hide. Which made it okay to procrastinate. How can the list ever truly be complete? New stuff and old remembrances keep popping up.
But I’m only cleaning out the garage, not emptying it. Get the big chunks out of the way, then move on to the whisk broom and dust pan.
And I’ve got just the bag.