May 9, 2023

it’s time to check in

and I’ve already packed too much for the short trip, but in go extra blouses and another
pair of jeans and a heap of socks I’ll likely not wear. Of course, I’ll forget something 
I deem essential—a toothbrush, a book—but I will spend the hours leading up 
to departure sweeping cat hair off the stairs and agonizing over leftovers in the fridge
and noticing every unkempt collision on my desk. All that unfinished business which will, 
as it often does, stay exactly where it is. Now it’s time to check in, and I make a tri-fold 
of a green jumpsuit. In case, I tell myself. Meanwhile, a seat awaits on a distant plane. 
I’ll be on it come morning, and this comedy of preparations will be behind me and 
I’ll buckle myself in and face forward. Isn’t this the moment I’m always chasing? Isn’t this
the last thing I remember to include, but for which there is always more space?