you know what stinks about life?
that there are always dishes to do,
the clothes don't fold themselves,
and EVERYTHING always gets dirty.
always. without fail.
and I have to take care of it. me.
I hate taking care of those things
because it's a problem that never solves itself.
where's the sense of accomplishment in washing the dishes if right after you finish, you prepare dinner and make more dirty dishes? there is none! and by the time I finish eating, I'm too tired to clean up. And who wants to do dishes in a sink that is under a stairwell anyways?
bah humbug.
don't even get me started on doing laundry.
why does life have to be consumed by these details? why are they such a chore? why can't I stay on top of them? why is it an endless battle with myself--one I'm constantly losing?
in so many ways these last two weeks I have felt like I can't see past these details. not just in my housekeeping, but in everything. I am consumed by the small things: the heat, the humidity, the laundry, the dishes, what my next drink should be (I literally calculate how and what I should get from which coffee shop or store that will satisfy my particular craving the best), what time I should go to bed, what time I should get up, how much gas I need, how much money I have for gas, what clothing I should wear, how much I need a hair cut, where I should get a haircut, how much money I should spend on a haircut, and the list goes and could become incredibly minute in detail if I allowed it. It is insane. It's tunnel vision at its worst. It's tunnel vision to the point where I become so frustrated with a student because I can't see past the sweat dripping down my back and can't bear to think of driving yet another block around this wretched city, just to satisfy her endless craving to be with me. A craving that I can never fully satisfy. It's tunnel vision because I can't bear to think past the details to the larger implications. I can't process what it means to that student that I let her down yet again--for the hundredth time in a world where all she has known is disappointment. Not because I am not capable--because I am quite capable.
No. I have had too much of reality. too much. I have seen too much. I have heard too much. I know too much. And I just can't take anymore. I cannot ingest another injustice. I cannot stomach another heartache. I cannot absorb any more abandonment. It's nobody's fault. And yet everyone's. I have taken it from every side. I have been stretched beyond what I thought stretchable. And I am still here. But I feel as if I can't take another step. I feel as if I can't care for another heartache no matter how small. I feel as if the battle has been decided before it was ever fought. and I've lost. until...
Until she sits on my lap, lays her head next to mine and whispers in my ear.
Until he grabs my hand in fear as he climbs his first mountain.
Until she compulsively reaches for a hug because words are not enough.
Until she says "I'll call you later" and really does.
Until he smiles for a picture you never thought he'd take.
And then you think and pray I will never be enough for these children but Lord, may I just be a piece, a piece in their puzzle, because they are already a huge one in mine.
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