Moving Thoughts
So I’m packing up to move and it occurs to me that this has a lot in common with spring cleaning, at least when it’s done right. They both involve getting into every cupboard and onto every shelf and moving things around, preferably out. They both involve moving around your furniture. And they both involve going through those piles of things that built up because you didn’t really know what to do with them at the time.
Those piles of things are like little mini archeological digs. You work your way down through the layers and never quite know what you’re going to find. You pull out a piece of paper and say to yourself “I probably could have used this a couple of weeks ago.” Or you say “Why did I not just throw this out at the time.” Or “Hm, this is a good idea, I suppose I’ll have to hang onto it,” and it goes into a new pile, but a thankfully smaller pile.
Somewhere in all of this I took a moment to whine to God. I thought, “Hey, what’s the good of knowing God if you can’t ask her for a favor now and then.” So I asked her if she could give me a hand and just wiggle her nose or blink or something and instantly pack everything for me. She told me that I need to pack the stuff myself, because it will give me memories, however dim, of where everything is, so that I can find the things that I need to unpack first, when I figure out what those are. Well, why not just plant the memories in my head, I started to ask, but I stopped myself. I just couldn’t bring myself to ask God to go around flipping bits and setting states in my brain. That’s something that should be kept between me and my drugs.
So I’m doing the packing myself, and I’m doing my best to remember what goes where, but somewhere in the back of my head there’s this nagging thought: What if I did ask God to do the packing for me? What if she did it and then, possibly at my request, she went in and altered my memory so I would remember packing everything myself even if I didn’t? Would that really be any better or easier than if I had gone ahead and done the packing myself? What if Edgar Allan Poe was really on to something when he asked “Is all that we see or seem but a dream within a dream?”
Now my brain hurts and for some reason I think I need a drink.
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