I’m sitting on the edge of the bathtub watching my three year old in silence as she screams at the top of her lungs. She’s been having trouble with constipation lately and all I can really do is be a presence coaching her through pain as she looks at me and whines my name over and over.

I don’t want to be here.

For shame,  no mother should say or even think these things but it’s true. To hell with this life right now– the loneliness,  busyness– all of it. My life as a landfill constantly being filled with piles and piles of junk and it’s filling up so high it’s blotting out light from the sun.  It gets this way every year as the school year starts and life moves into overdrive and my brain cells inflate from worry about bills and responsibility and the desire to keep from falling apart. Nights are spent lying awake in agitation, regretfulness and fatigue, ignoring the electronic messages of those who want to lay inside of my body but not my mind. I see through them and it makes me feel all the more alone.