My inner monologue seems to be in conflict with itself tonight. I’ve tackled the bare minimum in the kitchen after tucking the kids into bed. Now a voice urges me on: ‘Make a list’ it says one moment, followed by, ‘You’ve done enough, go watch a movie and fall asleep on yourself’ and then there’s ‘You never found Ozlynn’s shoes for the recital tomorrow, and you committed to bringing a savory item, and you'd better get up at 5 A.M. tomorrow so you can do all the things!’ Those aren’t the words that are controlling my actions though, because what I NEED to do, right now, is write. I don’t “need” to change the filter on the turtle’s cage at 11:30 at night. I mean, I did anyway, and it’s done now, but not because I am some ambivalent animal-tender, more so because the gurgling noise interrupts my nightly routine of mentally noting my failed goals. And if I can cross the gurgling noise off of the list (that I should be making), at least that’s one small victory and one less detail that might keep me from falling back to sleep. Gah! After all that, it’s clear that I did “need” to change the turtle filter. Good choices. But screw the list, and I mean it this time. I really just want to write. I want to remove the rambling symbols rolling around in my mind and allow my fingers tips to release each one as I punch them onto the screen. Nah, I’ll just keep ‘should-ing’ myself instead: I should wrap it up and go to bed. Or I should finish that whiskey that I poured myself, knowing full well that I wouldn’t drink all of it, take a jacket and the dog and go spy that caramel-colored moon, waning through the silhouette of trees in the back yard. I should sit in the dark and imagine this last month, and all the things (literal and proverbial) that I am currently shedding. I allow my heart to be weighted down by these things when I should have been letting them go, like a tiny crimson river poured from my fem-cup into the toilet bowl. Whoosh, I flush its startling color away from the stark, white side of the toilet. I’m just going to go to bed, and try to focus on what I know to be true; I am beyond privileged, and blessed. I wake up grumpy, but hopeful, every day. I love this fiasco of raising children and getting old, and learning about myself, and learning about this man that I share a bed with. It’s a beautiful chaos and a stagnant world the day I don’t have moments to overcome and triumph. I could literally make a list of all the shit I need to triumph over right now… Argh! Okay, okay! Morning To-Do list:

-Kids must shower.

-Go to store.

-Make a cracker and cheese spread.

-Find Ozlynn’s fucking shoes.

-Put the laundry in the dryer.

-Support Haven as she fulfills her agreement to play ‘Part of Your World’ on the piano nine more times before the recital.

-Do the girls' hair.

-Oh shit, do I have time to put on mascara?

-Don’t forget all four of the kids' sheet music.

-Try not to get in a fight with John while doing all the things.

-Be nice to in-laws when they meander up stairs to chat as I’m only one shoe deep and realizing that I forgot to put on a panty liner.

-Make it to the recital, and smile at people.

-Emily