Or maybe I just use it as distraction.
So that's probably why I sat down here with nothing to say at all. Plenty I wish I could, but I can't.
I can't. And I'm tired of the small talk.
I'm also tired of telling Noah to stop calling Gray names that start with poop and Carter to stop doing his homework in the dark. I want Ivy to start going to sleep on her own - for naps and nighttime, and I want to cease the examining of everything they do, thinking it's because of something I've done to make them this way, or that. Or what I'm turning them into.
We have so many good days. SO many. Maybe that's why the bads come as more of a shock. I don't know. Because it can deceive my mind into erasing when I do get it right and only focusing on what I get wrong. And I am an optimist, so I don't let on, I don't speak it out, and I certainly don't write it out, and instead hoard it within.
And maybe it's what we do, we all walk around with small talk on our sleeves and our hearts coffin-ed somewhere deep; we distract and are distracted and we make fun of anyone that makes us uncomfortable. Because we think that's how it's supposed to be.