raw emotion

I’m trying to think of something fluffy to write – or maybe something mildly entertaining. I’m searching for profundity, digging for insight and wisdom, scratching around in the upper levels of my deeper self for something worth saying. I come up against the thin pane separating the life I lead and the swirling, screaming torrent of all that lies beyond. I hate days like this – where the raw emotion of every disappointment in myself and my decisions bashes against that pane from the inside, where I withdraw into the safer realm of consistency to avoid contamination should there be a breech.

It happens when I fall short of my own expectations, but that is not the only necessary ingredient. My goodness, I fail myself daily. When I foresee failure in the future due to my own lack of drive, it points a spotlight on my vulnerabilities, and paralyzes me like that old standby, the deer in headlights. Guilt disables, conviction enables. Knowing these things with the logical side of my mind somehow places a heavier burden on me. I know what I should do, but the more I know it, the less I seem able to do it. I sit and stare at a floor strewn with popcorn and toys, and I can’t summon the strength to lift my arms – to lift my voice in command that the children take care of their own chaos.

I’ll snap out of it; I always do. Until that time, I’ll continue to love and mother when the theatre lights of daytime are shining. I’ll somehow find the reserves to manage the barest minimum of cleaning absolutely required. I’ll get through the impending storm, most likely far less scathed than anticipation would have me believe. I’ll avoid the deluge of broken glass in my spirit. I’ll soldier on.

Fluff it ain’t