no great thoughts in my head. only the noise of things to do and things not doing. the cold comes in the house through all the tiny cracks i have yet to seal and cuts through me, makes my hands bitter dry. yesterday i worked three different jobs and felt so angry to find the clean laundry piled in the kitchen. i receive no pay for any occupation. the poetry of my life is all doing and to be done. i have found there are not enough hours in the day and that this fact is the source of all my frustrations. my shoulders tense and my head aches. there is so much to do. always so much to do. i am now one of the mass of middle class working moms struggling to stay afloat and find the balance and where to strike it and failing failing failing. screams escape my throat and scratch it. all my anger is forced out by tiny unimportant matters like eggs on the floor and pee soaked into the sofa. what does the sofa really matter? how can i not see that what i must do is to savor everything and appreciate the perfections where they exist? i cannot. no matter how hard i try, i cannot. and i truly do not wish in any shape or form to be one of those lifeless automatons creating the whimsical fairy tale life for my children. truth is so much more messy. i live a life of truth and this gets me in trouble and also saves me.