I feel like life consists of constantly shifting objects from one place to another.
Pick up a plate, and put it on the table. Pick it up again, and put it in the sink.
Pick up a toy, and put it in front of the baby. Pick it up again, and rinse it off. Put it back in front of the baby.
Pick up the sweater, put it in the closet. Pick up the socks, put them in the laundry. Move the laundry upstairs, take other laundry downstairs.
Pick up the stack of tests, place it in fifteen different places before actually grading one.
I can’t bear to tidy up any more. I can’t bear to live in a mess. I can’t win.
Is this one of those deeply spiritual quotidian mysteries? Is it a metaphor for the endless conversion of our souls?
Will someone please pick ME up?