sticky web.

so i make a meal and it is a mild failure.
so i tell my children to give me a fucking break.
so i stew in my own wallowness of what's-wrong-with-me-and-us-and-the-world.

where is my groove?
where are my people?
where can i find the constancy i crave?

why can't i see it here, arm's length away from me?
why am i riddled with guilt?
why am i my own punching bag?

how can my daughter eat while running around on the furniture, and what kind of parent am i to not be able to stop her?

there are things that are mild, worthless. there are thoughts that make it necessary for me to shut down my brain. there are many, many, many worse things in the world.

last night i dreamed we were inundated with lice, giant lice attacking us. i woke up in yet another swamp of cold sweat, wondering where all the good sleep has gone. what have i done to deserve this?

i am so tired of all the questions. i know there is a simple answer, which is to just shut the hell up and listen. the answers present themselves every moment, yet i seem to be too dense to let them penetrate me.

i wonder what its like to always be the happy one.

i yearn.

these little ramblings are not worthy of me, nor are they worthy of you, reader, but i hope you can find the compassion to know they are not all of me. just a glimpse, a passing car that speeds by you in the wrong lane. not worthy of your time, but grateful nonetheless for the fact that you spotted me and saw something, anything, that might live on the common tangled web between us.