Cluttered Mind

Today I am over...giant backpacks, barking dogs, spilled water on the kitchen floor, the need for caffeine to remain awake, and the arrogance of the people who run stop signs.

Book keeping, refinancing, infighting, and adult acne remain top contenders for the best thing to add to a bad day to make it worse.

And while non-pologists can be ironic, their words are merely placeholders for the sadness that fills the space while we wait for contrition.

Loose pages of elementary school work, broken pencils, the desperate need for a 9-volt battery, eczema, and any other reasons skin itches, rashes, or flakes should only be doled out in the smallest of portions to anyone who also needs to bathe children, or themselves, or requires oxygen on a regular basis.

I could also do with a break from "cure speak," ungrateful people, chicken in any form, traveling spouses, and inane homework questions.

I wouldn't mind if the hoops we jump through to procure medical devices would dissolve into puddles of rainbow sherbet, and I don't even like rainbow sherbet.


And I've been thinking, the world would be better off without political posturing, lack of civility, callous disregard for fellow citizens, self-absorption, and those who litter. And domestic abuse, there's really no positive benefit to that at all.

The buzz from fluorescent lights, laundry that sours in an hour, and that little grit that remains in some of the travel mugs when they've been through a full dish cycle-those things should be abolished.

I don't think anyone should need to have a splinter until they can afford to buy their own tweezers and extract the little bugger themselves; it just seems unfair.

On the other hand I could listen to Lorde singing Royals once an hour, for this week, at least, and my son's teacher makes him laugh, and learn, and he skips to the school bus each morning. We could use more people like her in our school systems.

And every single day, the view from my window is only beautiful or better.

I have a blister on my heel, which would seem to be troublesome, but I have two kinds of band-aids to choose from, and how many days of my life will I be able to choose Angry Birds *or* Hello Kitty to heal a wound.

It's small things that build upon each other that make the difference between alive and living.

My children still like me to read to them, and when we don't start our day in a pile of parents and children, snuggled-in for 'cozy cuddle time', we all miss it. 

We have enough, and then some, and a little to give to someone else if they need it.

We have friends who we trust to share how hard this life is sometimes, people who get it, and sometimes we are called upon to help, so we know we are trusted too.

My mind can still be changed with better information, and my heart is filled to bursting on a regular basis.

So if in the face of irritations I can be open to learn, or when confronted with pettiness, I am still able to love, I am hard-pressed to say that, for at least a moment, I have experienced anything less than success.