Gray days

I gently lock the double glass doors behind me and linger just a second longer taking in your weary eyes, shaggy hair and the air of resignation about you. I lean over the sofa to kiss soft heads good-bye before scanning the room a last time as I close the door behind me.

I sit behind the wheel, account for my access cards, keys and ease the car ahead. Driving by memory, I hardly pause as signals change, cars whizz past me and the scenery flashes past. My brain is overloaded with a sense of guilt and responsibility.

I know the pressures of working full-time and raising two young children will ease with the years but there are moments when I want physically put my arms out and hold time to stand still. To give me time to pause and breathe. To deal with things in order.

I have to remind myself to breathe deeply. To inhale and exhale and take one hour at a time. The voice in my head pipes up. “You chose this life.”

I did.

I chose to be a parent. I chose to be a home owner. I choose to work full-time. Thus I own the chaos and the loss of control. The unpredictability of mornings.

Breathe! urges the voice inside and I do.

I spy my building across the road and the mood visibly changes. I trade a kind of madness for one of mind numbing sameness.

I park and lose myself in the crowd milling around.

Tomorrow is another day.

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