first lines

Sometimes, when my eyes fall to the kitchen table or the foot of the bed or the shelf above my desk, it feels like everything’s a few clicks away from chaos. I tell myself I’m making piles for later, stacking the still-to-be-dones so they’re more visible, and inspire action, etc., etc., but the truth looks more like what’s the point, or like whatever’s there can wait, and I find myself spurred instead by the urge to make rhubarb syrup, or fold a piece of paper into…