The Warm Comforts of Home

The time and effort it takes to complete my “to-do” list does not jive. I have one pushing me to quit all I have accomplished thus far and get a job while the others merely want me to be their laundry and dish slave. Any moments in which I could think about something other than money (but let’s be honest-what I am doing is in every effort an attempt at earning more than minimum wage) and chores (my hands are not the only capable set around here) are well… nonexistent. I am quite proficient at attending class that are marked on this list; however, the bits that follow this task are often pushed to the side. Frankly, I am behind. So I am writing this to get the creative intellect flowing and maybe, just maybe I catch up on my tasks. 

The kitchen isn’t perfect but I’ve not seen one fly buzzing around; the laundry is as caught up enough to walk away from it for now. My perfect opportunity, right? Yes, but all I can think about are the squabbles within my little tribe of unsympathetic asses. They can really zap the thoughts right out of my head. I listen to their problems and do my best to offer help and ideas to make things smooth. Sometimes I am being selfish to think that they use me while feeling little if any respect for what I am doing or the ideas I would love to pursue. I never want to be so egocentric that my problems become more important than others. 

I hardly ever cry but I feel that this situation would cause most to sob hysterically. So what do I do instead? Ah yes, my whole literate life I have expressed myself more openly to the written form of communication, so with every silly meme I post on social networking sites to each comment on status’ and every word I write at all, well they are my simple sorrow. Each letter of every word are my tears; some I write while others I only read. The punctuation must be my sobs between the droplets of emotion I write.