Windows.

From here, I can hear my computer humming. The dog grumbling. The baby swing rocking. And the quiet laying over it all. I think there's poetry in this, but it's sound thing not a word thing and I can't capture any kind of translation. My brain is working on a stream of consciousness sort of level, not interested in considering word meanings and structure, incapable of working that audible rhythm of quiet and sound into something else.

I should be sleeping. All three of my children are sleeping but I'm stuck in this rhythm, awake. My days are structured to maximize the times when my arms are free to work, I already have the kids gathered up to leave the house, the baby just ate and so I am free for a few hours. I must hurry, hurry, hurry until I must stop. It makes sleep a hard thing to find until I practically pass out, and then I feel like I've miss-scheduled the whole thing. I'm vaguely resentful of it all and am craving a chance to just sit.

I'm working on appreciating the people in my life for the positive things they grant me. I'm surrounded by some awfully cool people and they seem to make the puzzle pieces of my life fit together in a better way. Ways I don't understand, usually.

My time is up. Someone is calling me.

I'd quote that "tomato/tomato, potato/potato" song, but that's so cliche.

I wrote a blog post last week about going to Mass. Yes, you read that right: Mass.

Then a friend pointed out today that I can't really call it a blog post. Because I couldn't type it in at the time, due to Oliver's demands. So I hand wrote it instead. She feels I must now call it a journal entry. But I wrote it with the intention of typing later. Now I'm torn. To fill it in here, or just let it go? Or write something completely new?

Journaling. Blogging. Synonyms for so many.