Take only what you need

I am staring blankly at the ceiling. I have no idea how long I have been doing this. Did my eyes just open? Where is J? I feel the covers beside me. The familiar swell on the other side of the bed reassures me. It is morning.

“Have you considered Sol Lewitt?”

I can feel my muscles resist as I climb out of bed.

“There is a dead mouse outside the door daddy.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Tiger-Lilly must have caught it last night.”

My hand, wrapped in a plastic grocery bad swoops down to pick it up. Suddenly I am caught up in a moment of indecision. Where do you put a dead mouse? Dig a hole? Toss it in the alley? I glance over at the fence that marks the boundary between my house and the neighbors. She died last summer, and the house is still vacant. The back yard covered in overgrowth. Glancing one last time at the alleyway I arc my arm over my head and toss the mouse over the fence.

Morning ritual. I remove the reusable filter from the coffee maker and lift the lid of the trashcan. The fetid odor rises to greet my senses. My eye water slightly as I bend over and knock the contents of the filter into the chasm below then turn quickly for a breath of air.

“Help me get my socks on Daddy”

The coffee percolates in my stomach and I keep wiping the same grain of sleep out of the corner of my eye.

Time to go. I stuff the familiar tokens in my pocket. Wallet. Phone. Keys. Each one a statement about what I am doing and what I cannot go without.

When I left for college I had a suitcase and a guitar in the back seat of my car, and I had everything in the world I needed. When I moved from S.F. eight years later the car had turned into a u-haul, but the editing process had been the same. Take only what you need. Take only what you need. It becomes my mantra. The morning air is cool as I step outside the door. The coffee is doing the trick. The fresh air on my face is cathartic. Take only what you need.

I step outside and close the door.