Dissipating Debris (RIP to Mister Fan)

After falling asleep at 4:00am, it was to be expected that an unwanted 8:30am wake-up call irritated me to heinous extremes.  In addition to my 2-year old nephew beckoning “geddup Cheson,” something was just not right.  My power cord must’ve been failing, because my fan was mysteriously off.  In four fluid steps, I had both escorted my nephew out the door and moved the fan to another outlet.  Moments later, I lay there on my back staring at the ceiling.  Something was still not right.  The fan was not working.  I manipulated the chord as I did with my old laptop cord which housed a gigantic short.  It was broken.  Back staring at the sky, I inwardly longed for some type of noise to silence my thoughts.  Nothing.  Silence.  More silence.  Then came the tears.  I wasn’t in pain nor was I distraught over the fan being broken—there was another on in the basement.  It was more symbolic then that.  For over 12 years, this fan has been the background music drowning out my loudest prayers, my hugest breakdowns, and an array of other activities that took place in my personal sanctuary.  The messes of life often created by my own hand can no longer be blown away.  It is an easy task to hide emotions, pain, and other ambiguous feelings when you have a covenant with a fan which promises to dissipate all evidence by the following morning.  Now, I’m extra vulnerable because not only is there nothing to cancel out the noise, I can no longer do away with evidence from the night before. I reckon that Mister Fan grew weary of being my personal scapegoat.  Rest in Peace, sir…You’ve been good to me!  #nowplaying “I Wish It Would Rain” by the Temptations.