I almost cried in the grocery store on Friday. I'm not much of a crier- excepting the occasional meltdown, not much shakes me to tears. But as I grow older they seem to come more easily.

This was a quarter to six in the evening. I had just finished a 9-hour day at work and I was tired and trying to grab a few items to get through the dinner meal. As I turned my cart onto the chip aisle to get some microwave popcorn, there was a mother with her 2 boys there. The boys were horsing around a bit as kids do, and the mother was scolding them to stop. Suddenly, one of the boys tumbled onto the floor and rolled right in front of my cart. Maybe the brother pushed him. He looked up at me with tears in his eyes and just laid there staring at me. I of course couldn't move because he was blocking my path. It was then that the mother glanced over in his direction and then said to him: I'm going to knock your motherfucking head off.

The kid looked about seven.

I wondered what sort of parent would say that to a child. I wouldn't even say that to someone I hated. I smiled feebly at the little boy and he moved enough for me to wheel my cart past him. I got around to the next aisle and it was then that the tears stung my eyes. What is his life like? How terribly hard growing up must be for some kids. I thought of his sad eyes boring into mine. I thought of the good people in social services and school counseling who spend their lives trying to help these little ones. It must be hard and discouraging.

And then I thought of all the bullshit hoops that adoptive parents have to go through to get their hands on a child to love, when any old unfit idiot who happens to be fertile can have kids.

Never Enough Time

I keep trying to write. I do. But something always happens. there just isn't enough time. The washer is trilling for me to move the clothes over. Or I sit down to write and Ezra shuffles past the doorway and I know he's bored and then I feel too guilty to sit and write. Or any other number of things that take me from the small amount of time I have when I'm not at work. People come in and look at my screen. I don't like for people to look at my screen. I can never quite remove myself from my surroundings anymore. Writing is fizzling. Ariel Gore tells me to forget that stuff about needing money and a room of one's own to write. But dude, I get that. I need that. I have lost countless thoughts and words because I am never, ever alone for any length of time. How early would I have to get up to beat everyone else to some solitude? Most days, I am out the door by 7:10am and barely coherent, much less ready to bang out some words. Not sure what my solution is these days. I really think I need to break away from the computer altogether and just go back to a little notebook and a quiet corner. Sometime.

Cleaning the Cobwebs

Half day. Kids gone in their various directions and I find myself alone, such a rarity these days. I decided to clean my craft room. The state of it is a reflection of the frame of mind I've been in lately- chaotic, neglected, un-inspired. Ive been thinking a lot in the past few days and getting my head on straight about some stuff. Ever notice how sometimes things can be going great but somehow you find yourself miserable just the same? Well- me anyway. Nora was helping me make some buttons earlier and suddenly I saw what the work area had gotten to.

After the girls left I set to it. Lit some incense. My dad hates incense; he says the smoke makes him feel like he's choking. But I love the way it burns when it first hits my nostrils and how the smell never fails to lift my spirits. I also put on some Weepies and turned it up. Something I am coming to realize is how quiet my life has become. I work all day in a place with no music, and then I come home and work in the kitchen and get tired and go to bed. I have lost music. I am figuring out what needs to happen for me to get that back.

I rolled up the cheap little rug we had placed in front of the computer and threw it out. It's constantly bunched up under the rollers on the chair and I suddenly wondered why we were still battling it. I do it a lot- fighting against things that aren't working. Sometimes I do that because I don't know how to fix it. What I am realizing is that sometimes you can't fix it. You don't fix it. You fix yourself.

The only person you can really control is yourself and your own attitude and reactions to situations. That's what I'm working on.