What a life. It doesn't tend to turn out the way I want it, but what I want may not be what's right. So, I'll write my little thoughts, sing my little songs, do the dishes, laugh maybe, and constantly wonder. I'll love my kids more than I can comprehend and regret every injustice I've imposed upon them. I will ache to be loved. And I will love that very way. Because Oprah said I'd get it back. Bend but try not to break. I will have a clear head. I don't need you to tell me what my eyes are seeing. Don't put my hand on the stove and tell me it feels just fine. Here's to my sisters that are driven to do anything to maybe get what you need. Some are pregnant, some old, some just standing.

I'm loving the song If I Die Young. I'm not going anywhere, but I love the resolve in her sadness. It's the Romeo and Juliet. The sweet familiarity of tragedy.

Love you all.

The sharp knife of a short life, well

I've had, just enough time