while the boy is up and out working, i'm in bed dreaming of all the things i could do. it's very important, this, aspiring "could". oh i could, i could, if i could just... ... perhaps in thinking about it, i have already done it. there's no hard concrete proof of this of course. no version of it exists in this reality that i live in. but i don't need all of that. it's inside my head and what matters most is my head- keeping personally sane, as it balances on my neck, on my shoulders, sometimes rolling forward almost ready to plunge and sink, heavy with tears, sometimes light and clear and dark and suddenly most wonderfully blank.
if they ask me what my world view is, i'll tell them that i don't have one. or rather, that i do: that life is short enough and hard enough (we're all doing it for the first time, no one gave me a restart button or trial lessons before they cut me out from my mother's womb), and i just want to be. if i write, i write. if i work, i work. if i don't and i'm a waste, then i'm a waste. so be it.
so be it.
and be plain and simple and live and let live and laugh, laugh all the time, laugh about everything and anything as i rise up with the cloud of dust particles that shimmer in the sunlight and settle back down onto the ground, back into the intricate veins of the deep earth, disperse and disappear.