I’m not of the land of the polished, the land of the organized junk drawer and the land of fresh manicures. I’m just not. And I’m learning to make peace with that.

I reside in the rain. My heart lies in a crib with a soundly sleeping, sweet-smelling baby boy, growing up much too quickly. My heart lies in the downpour of the water, coursing through the gutters, dampening the grey concrete, smoothing the edges of the world around me. My heart lies in the grass over the bones of my mother, as I sit near her and talk to her and ask her to guide the rest of my life from her–better–vantage point.

There are more important things than vacuuming my living room, or cleaning out my closet. There are more important things than disappearing through drink. There are more important things. And I am finished with not finding them.