In the Absence of Sleep

My head touches the pillow and I close my eyes and pretend that I might sleep. And I try to think warm, comforting thoughts to encourage the soft pull of dreams to give rest to my racing mind. But as tired as I am, I am wide eyed awake sitting at the kitchen table with my bare feet pressed against the cold laminate floor and an icy shawl wrapped around my shoulders.

Some days I just don't know what to do with myself. Either I'm going too far in one direction or I'm giving up on the other entirely, spinning myself around in circles to get nowhere very fast.

I wish to God that things could be different. I wish that if anything could be in overabundance it would be laughter and not the anger and tears that seem to fill my days. I guess I just painted myself a rose colored picture of the reality I wanted, and didn't realize how hard all of this would really be.

And it's not that I'm afraid of things not being easy. God knows I am no stranger to hardship. But I feel so out of control that there are mornings I get up and look in the mirror and wonder if it's me, if it's him or if it's just us combined that makes this so much harder than it has to be.

I don't mean to sound as if I'm trying to place blame. It doesn't make much sense to even bother with those kind of thoughts. Instead I wish that I could think of a thousand and one solutions. Anything to make things better for everyone involved. Anything to allow joy back into this world we've created.

And maybe my sorry's don't count. But they are heartfelt and sincere.