Those kids of mine are smiling so hard up there. I just want to take one cute picture of them both looking at me and smiling their perfect little happy smiles–the ones that they give me after I tickle their breath away–and this is the perfectly random imperfection I get. This moment of painful bliss so captured must surely contain some sort of life lesson for me. I feel often like I’m smiling so hard that my face starts to contort and my nervous twitching becomes sickly pronounced.
Where is that big umbrella I ordered? Where is the blesséd honey to coat the wounds of our souls? Where is the assurance I need (apparently hourly) that all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well? Brandon wrote some of what scares him. Jessica cut open a few veins and bled on her blog. Why do I feel like I can’t write freely? What is this beast that binds my words? Is that my good judgment or my paralyzing fear? I feel like there is always a tension in me between warring and resting, and I can’t figure out which side is evil and which side is good or when to do either.
Hence the precarious balance between smile and grimace. So don’t mind me; I’ll just sit in this corner and mutter to myself.