The Buts

I want to sleep in late, but Sammy dog has to go out and get fed and so do I, so I get up.

I want to be productive and wildly incredible every single day, but then I get tired and those plans unravel quickly.

I want to roll back over under the covers, but the morning sun shines brightly in my window coaxing me awake, and I can’t deny that.

I want to ignore the dishes and the laundry, but Craig and I have to eat and we have to wear clothes, so eventually I stop ignoring them, and I wash them.

I want to wallow in my pain, but then I remember that everything is still in tact – I have 10 fingers and 10 toes, I can walk, I can talk, and I’m still breathing, so I get up and utilize them.

I want to hop a flight to Paris – or maybe Fiji – and never look back, but I stay because I have a husband and a dog and a home that I love more than anything.

I get angry, but then I smell the crunched-leaf scent of fall, see the tree colors getting impossibly more vibrant, have a calming visit with a friend, hit my stride on a writing project, or see a video of my nephew singing in his underwear, and I can't be angry anymore. 

I want to pretend the toppling stack of medical and household bills isn’t there and just count it as part of our kitchen décor, but I stop pretending, and I go through them because homelessness and collection agencies don’t sound like any fun.

I sometimes complain that I got dealt a bad deck, but then I realize how damn good I’ve got it.

I’m unsure of my body’s capabilities, but then I test them and I’m always surprised that it can still take me where I want to go.

Sammy at our look-out spot above the valley.

I want to cry when I see a pregnant woman and know that’ll never be me, but usually I can hold my composure, at least until I get back in my car.

I get frustrated that I’m exhausted all the time again, but then I think of the alternative and frustration turns to gratitude.

I want to punch people in the face when I see a cigarette in their mouth, but I don’t because I have some sense of self-control still (though I’m not making any guarantees on that one).

I want it all to stop: the decisions, the confusion, the side effects, the questioning, the fear, but then I don’t want it to, because that would mean it’s over, and I don’t want it to be over.

I want to give up sometimes, but I love life too much, so I don’t.