I don’t know what to do with this week. Part of me wants to beat it with a billy club, kick in its teeth, and shove it in a puddle. Another part of me wants to put it on my shoulders and run with it through a field of wildflowers. This week I wanted to cry (and I have) and laugh (done that, too). This week I have questioned my belief in karma, my career choices, and my 5- and 10-year plans. This week I’ve wondered if life is trying to push me in a direction that I was veering away from. Is life actually trying to tell me something and am I finally ready to listen? Or is this a test in fortitude and am I supposed to soldier on and show myself that Yes, I can do this and Yes, this is what I really want? In short, are things hard because there is much to be gained or are things hard because I’m choosing to make them so?

The phrase “Life isn’t fair” has run through my head like a scrolling Times Square marquee this week. I don’t know that I ever believed it to be nor have I ever lived my life under that assumption. Then again, I didn’t believe life to be such a hard-hearted bastard, either. I have openly professed that one of my biggest pet peeves comes in the form of someone who complains but doesn’t take the reigns – I don’t believe that we are victims to our circumstances. But this week I have never felt so helpless in my own life and to others. When that type of feeling overcomes me, action seems to be the only answer. But it’s hard to know what kind of action is appropriate. Sometimes the best action is being silently at someone’s side. Other times, the right action is spewing out the acidic mix of words and feelings that have been sitting like a toxic stew in the pit of my stomach. I think the right action in this moment is both.

It’s a disembodying experience, feeling the way I’m feeling yet seeing Connor and Ike smile and play, the only things wrong in their worlds being not enough playtime and a too-cold bottle. I scruff Connor’s hair and kiss his porcelain cheek, suddenly feeling the urge to buy him something that will enthrall him to get him as far away from darker feelings as possible. I smell Ike’s sweet baby head and have to loosen my grip on him, for fear that I am clutching him too tightly against my quickly-beating heart. I’ve even started smooshing on Blue more, stopping him every time he passes me in the hallway or on my way into one room or another to ring my arms around his neck and kiss his furry muzzle. If anything, gratitude has started coursing through my muscles, stopping any human or pet in my wake to fall prey to showers of kisses or unsolicited hugs. Luckily, all Connor and Ike (should he remember anything of this at all, which he probably won’t) will remember of this time is the love. Amen.

I may seem weather-beaten and on the verge of wearing black lipstick outside of the house (have I even worn it inside the house? Nah), but I’m really ok. We all are because, as my mom has said, we have to be. What other choice do we have but to keep on keeping on? Sounds pessimistic, but it’s really not. It’s the difference between sinking below the water level or taking big, glorious gulps of air, regardless of how much you may have to fight to get them. I have sat silently at someone’s side and I have cried out. I have sunk but now am clearing my lungs. I look toward the sun sans April Showers, thank you much.


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