I sit, wanting to write but a bit paralyzed as to where I should start. It was an ordinary day. Maybe that’s why it was so frustrating, because it was just another ordinary day.
The kids were loud and rambunctious, but not exceptionally. I got less sleep than I wanted, but my exhaustion was mostly the good kind from actually moving around the past few days. I felt restless and anxious, but not for any big reason other than a bit of boredom and wanderlust.
I know my triggers. Sleepiness, too much social media, and not enough down time because I procrastinated on a few things so I’ve been playing catch up, and nearly every moment has been full. In hindsight I know myself well, but not in the moment, the act of choosing how to fill my days.
And there she is, my selfish side. She yells at the kids for distracting her from the unimportant. She feels unloved and unappreciated when she is doing nothing loving or appreciative for anyone else. If we get what we give, she makes sense.
So I draw pictures and read stories and make treats and try to pull us all out of this funk I’ve put us in. Tomorrow calls for lots of fresh air with a side of apology, and perhaps a few chapters in a book. None of it is necessary, but all of it is needed.
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