Transport, Motorways and Tramways...

I'm sorry guys, I'm showing up here right now with nothing good. I've been consumed in office work that sucks all my energy right out of me, I feel low, rejected, sad, and anxious. Let down, hanging around... oh wait, did I just step into a Radiohead song? I haven't been posting all that much because I found myself counting how many poopy diapers I had changed and how many loads of laundry I had washed, and I was writing it all down when I got sick of myself and deleted it, all of it, all my numbers and charts and adding things up.

Nothing adds up. I'm learning that I should just stay away from numbers. They don't feed me. What does?

My wood stove. It's purty. And warm.

A big heavy four-year-old boy agreeing with me when I tell him it's cuddle time after he's had a grumpy morning. I could sit with his head under my chin all day. I always marvel at the large skull that has grown from the tiny fragile head he was born with. Not to mention the long legs from those little bowed bird legs.

My Leaf Baby. He tries to make me laugh and he always succeeds.

Collecting stones from the beach.

A beautiful painting/song/poem.

BEAUTY. Oh I need it. In me, around me. Lately I've been rebelling, feeling like such a cleaning lady. I know it's all to the end of creating a beautiful space for my family, but does it have to be so repetitive? Does it have to feel so futile? Or how about other areas in life? Does loving people have to feel so one-sided? Can we get a little rain? Oh, here I am, complaining.

I'll write again tomorrow, maybe the morning will shake some of this out of me. I have things to tell you, I do.

Now I prefer to stew in my misery.