lint

ball of lint, sitting on the dryer.  that is me, formless, bits of flotsam and jetsam ravelled and whurled.
all three of the kids has had a stomach virus this week, still happening, in fact. though i have two asleep on separate sofas while the dryer cranks out a dry, if not clean, towel.  dryness seems to be a matter of importance. 
the midnight dance between sides of the bed was impressive, and i am now dropped into a remembrance of the first four months of my firstborns life, and the truth of 'no-sleep' and whatever sort of deprivation that caused in me. depravity, perhaps. some relationship therein.

i smell like pee and vomit, and i don't know if the pee is mine or not.  it is allergy season after all.  i have had three children and while incontinence is not really my problem, it is hard to battle a marathon of sneezing.
my mother is heavily sedated and so i don't visit her at my leisure, though my stomach has its own rumblings and my spirit is just lying out on the back deck waiting for my attentions.  i can't decide if i want to go out there or not.

i worry for my dad, i worry for a shift in my psyche about aging andparents and children and my spot in the universe. i am beyond annoyed that i am almost forty and i'm one of those women who feels 'lost' a great deal.  beyond.

i suppose there is some use to be found in that dryer lint.  one can compost it, you know. 

i'm going to watch the end of sixteen candles. yes i am.