The principle of Conservation of Energy tells us that energy can’t be created or destroyed.

Where did mine go, then?

Just finished unpacking about a dozen boxes from the ol’ Cruiser, stacking them in the bedroom, hanging some art in the new bathroom, Moving food from boxes and cooler to cabinets and fridge, collapsing in a chair, contemplating the notes I taped in the car on the drive down.

The bathroom is starting to look like a place where an actual human would…umm…reside. Art isn’t final, yet (I am famously fussy about what goes where); no curtains conceal the view from bathroom to river (which is okay, because nobody but heron, woodpeckers and eagles would see into the window anyway.) Stuff isn’t done—far from it. Boxes and boxes remain to be unpacked. Furniture needs to be moved, room to room and house to house. But it’s progress.

Chaos is like water: It flows into every available space. I have traded the torn-up bathroom for a pristine space, but elsewhere madness prevails.

When the madness is resolved, it will transmogrify into another sort of chaos. The internal kind. A space emptied out for echoing thoughts to fill. A book that’s rapidly approaching its finish. Another book to start. A job to find.

One sort of chaos will be traded for another. And, sooner or later, I’ll reach the place of no chaos at all.

And you want to know a secret? A nagging part of my head tells me that I may just miss it when it’s gone.

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