It’s been a while. Every time I sat down to write a drabble my brain turned to static. That’s the nature of burnout, which I’ll write more about in my newsletter. I’m trying to be a little more patient with myself and let go of the things that nobody’s waiting on, so drabbles fell to the wayside for a bit. That’s okay—when I sat down to write this one, it didn’t feel like work. It felt like opening a shaken can of soda, maybe. There was too much of it, but it was a joyous sort of mess.
Anyway, here’s a drabble. Maybe I’ll be more consistent in the future. Maybe I won’t. But I’ll come back eventually.
Spirits, often restless, that might be appeased through household rituals.
He tidies the kitchen, as he always does when his mind begins to wander to what life was before… before he was this intangible something. With will, he scrubs a stubborn spot of tomato sauce from the stove. With will, he can do most things, except remember.
It’s for the best. Nobody seems well-served by remembering anything. Some pay good money to have someone else help them sort through their memories. Not him. He cleans his kitchen until it shines and wonders why the woman living in his house is so surprised to see it tidied by in the morning.