Long Days

Sometimes I envy those mom's who know help will come in time to cook dinner.

We just don't have a schedule like that. I have sort of given up looking forward to the relief. Like magically he would appear in time to distract so I can cook dinner. Or be home in time to eat dinner with us so I am not cleaning up dishes and food so late at night. I have resigned myself, when dad gets home there is not much else to do. Tuck them in and say "good night."

Neither of us like it.

I can remember back babysitting on long summer days. The days were long. It was work. And I couldn't wait for the parents to get home. To do what? Go watch TV? Were it 2015, go check out facebook? That albatross that sucks the life of you.  I digress.

My mom assured me that when it was my own house and my own kids the days wouldn't be so long.
She was right. Most days the clock moves fast, way too fast for the things that need to be done or that I want to do.

There are fewer days that creep along, maybe because I stopped expecting and relying on fresh recruits to relieve me.

Quiet Words

The thing about being a writer -in a world of blogs- you want, you need to put words out there too.

You want to tell the truth.

You want to ring the words of truth like a bell. "Listen, what I say may help." "Listen, I need you to understand." "Listen, I need to get this processed out of me."

Sometime you just can't -I just can't- privacy and pride keep me quiet.

There are no cathartic spilling of thoughts, dreams dashed, desires unmet, sweet joys and triumphs experienced to be shared. Except those trapped in a quiet notebook...

The words aren't meant to be public. They are meant for a quiet life between pages.
Words trying to respect the matter of fact, shoulder shrugging private and bound selves.

It just seems sometimes quiet is cruel and articulation is an enemy.