Raspberry Iced M

I can’t escape my own mind, and that has been a big problem lately.

Not the overthinking itself, but the content.

In an effort to pull myself away from an abstract headspace, I offer the following, less profound, possibly rhetorical question:

“If you were an inanimate object, what would it be?“

My response(s)…

1. A junk drawer. Three good ideas. A dead battery. An expired coupon. An emotional support pen with teeth marks on the cap. And 17 other thoughts that don’t belong together but somehow exist peacefully.
2. A Crock Pot. It takes me approximately 9 hours, on low, to process a single emotion. And by the time I know how I actually feel, everybody else has given up and eaten cereal.
3. That calendar from your Granny’s house that was purchased in 1998 but never removed from the wall or replaced. I keep saying I’ll change it but it seems it has become permanently affixed to the wall.
4. The library book that was never returned. I appear put together. But if you open me, there are scribbles in the margins, coffee stains, dog hair, and several chapters that were clearly not edited before publishing.
5. That wobbly wheel of your grocery cart. Headed in the right direction. But hanging on for dear life and making a lot of noise on the journey.
6. A lava lamp. From the outside, nothing seems to be happening. Internally? An incredible amount of activity with no obvious purpose.
7. A sticky note. I exist solely to remind myself of things I absolutely should remember but definitely won’t.
8. A password with too many requirements. Must contain: One uppercase letter. One lowercase letter. One number. One special character. One emotional breakthrough. One therapy appointment. One prayer. Apparently.
9. The chapstick under the car seat. People remember that I’m there. I’m just not important enough to retrieve.
10. The light above the oven. I don’t offer much, and I’m often overlooked. But I’m appreciated the most when the rest of the house is pitch black. And my efforts are missed the most when I burn out and can’t do my job anymore.

You know what I would really like to be, maybe someday? A blanket fresh out the dryer.

Not exciting. Not dramatic.

Just comforting. Warm. Steady. A place where people I love feel safe.

Maybe that is what it means to grow older…

Realizing I’m not a sports car. I’m more like…a reliable coffee maker.
I’m not fireworks. I’m the dependable, ever-ready flashlight on your phone.
I’m not a brand new pair of Jordans. I’m the Crocs that sit by the door…overlooked during events but ready and waiting when the groceries need to be retrieved from the trunk.

And maybe there is something comforting about knowing that.