Time

Off to work again.
I just went to bed.
Round and round I go.


Trying hard to pinpoint at least one unique thing every day. Something to make this day one of the counted days, accounted for.


Round and round I go.

Bubble

Am I allowed to stay in the bubble?


Every day we meet fresh. No history. Sun is shining. In harmony hugs and kisses are given and received. Gentle chit chat.


Then I ask the forbidden question "how was school?".


...


Nightmare ensues.
Tears. Screaming. Threats. Slammed doors.


Tears.
Tears.
Tears.
Tired.


...


What if I never asked the question?
I wouldn't fulfil my half of the deal with school. But oh my. Oh my.
What if I could just stay there, in the bubble, where we were still friends and my eyes weren't puffy from all the crying and he wasn't locked in his room brooding.

Choices

Take the fight with one or feed the others?
Feed the others and let the one keep believing they are unwanted and unloved?
Take the fight and risk two more fights from the two with low blood-sugar levels caused by lack of food?
Take the fight, not make dinner and efficiently teach the others how to get attention. All the wrong kind of attention. But all the attention I seem to have energy to give...

Always late

Image by: Wait But Why

I am always late. On the rare occasions I'm not late I'm secretly in shock (you couldn't tell) and rarely know what to do with myself. Since I'm so used to being late all I know is how to sneak in and seem like I've either been busy with something important or pretend I was there all along (never works), or generally produce a quick apology when suitable then blend in to the situation.

But always late.

I read this article on Upworthy and BAM! instant recognition. I don't think I've ever read anything which struck as close to home as this text. Have a read: http://www.upworthy.com/inside-the-heads-of-people-who-are-always-late-as-explained-by-stick-figures?c=ufb1

I don't totally agree with the author (Tim Urban) but all of it gets very close to explaining what's going on.
He writes "But also, what the hell is going on? Late people are the worst. It’s the quality I like least in myself. And I’m not late because I like to smell the roses or because I can see the big picture or because the future is full of infinite possibilities. I’m late because I’m insane."

However I do like to smell the roses and I easily, too easily get sidetracked, I can't say no and I have serious difficulties _stopping_ (e.g. quit doing what I'm doing).

But also, I'm insane.
Simple as that.

I KNEW that.
Did you know that?

So when I'm late it's not because I don't care about you, it's because I'm insane.

But most important - there is no excuse for it.
And.
I need to stop doing it.