excuses

I want to stomp
and complain
and let the three year old me
run rampant over the keyboard.

I want to type
and tell stories
and leave comments
and make phone calls.

I want to be a great mommy
and play games all day
with the people
who won’t be little much longer.

I want to clean my house
completely
and organize it
so everything has
an away.

Or better yet
get someone else to do it for me
while I am unconscious
so that I won’t
feel guilty
for all of the things
I have let slide.

But,
I
am
so
tired –
to the bone
in the marrow
replicating
spreading
through the bloodstream
to every pore
every hair
every breath.