I cut my finger tonight.
I was chopping potatoes for the vegetable soup I didn't want to make for dinner.
I didn't want to make anything for dinner.
I cut my finger tonight and nobody cared.
I cut my finger and I yelled, "god dammit".
None of the other people in my house noticed.
I left my potatoes on the counter, and ran upstairs to the band-aid bin.
I bandaged my finger by myself and nobody noticed.
I noticed, that nobody noticed.
I returned to my potatoes and exploded.
I yelled at all the boys in the room.
I asked them why they didn't ask me if I was okay.
I asked them why they didn't bother to see if I needed any help.
I continued to yell.
I continued to ask why no one cares for their caretaker.
I'm the one that makes sure everyone else is okay.
I put the band-aids on.
I give the hugs when someone is sad.
I listen when someone needs to talk.
I fix things.
I put things back together.
I tell everyone that everything is going to be okay.
I know what to do when someone needs something.
I'm yelling, most of the dogs are slowly walking away from the kitchen...the beagle stays, she's deaf.
I'm yelling, my thirteen year old is slowly walking out of the room...
I'm yelling, Dermot lies motionless in his reclined wheelchair...
I'm yelling, Ryan continues to keep his head down while drawing at the kitchen table...
I'm yelling, my husband yells back.
He tells me I swear so much now, that he can't tell when something is serious and when it's not.
He says if I reserved my swears for when it really counted, he'd know something was really wrong.
I feel like the boy who cried wolf.
I feel like every time I swear in anger, it is serious.
I feel like reserving my swears would make explosions like this even worse.
I feel my finger throbbing. Blood soaking thru the band-aid.
I feel my heart aching. Pain soaking thru my heart.
I cry about so much and nothing at all.
I cry because I'm trapped.
I cry because I'm exhausted.
I cry because I'm scared.
I cry because I can't go on the Colorado Ranch retreat I read about in the Sunday paper, because leaving home for an entire week is a logistical impossibility.
I cry because I was stupid enough to go on Facebook and compare my life to others who are traveling across the world right now, and that is no longer a possibility in my life.
I cry because I think my husband is going to lecture me about Facebook again and all I really need him to do is lie and tell me everything is going to be okay.
It's all about me today, because most days it's not.