.Until Next Year.

I don't do resolutions...I can only do right here and right now. So here's a little snapshot of how I'm heading into 2015. Catch ya on the flipside, loves!

.Now and Then.

Now and then, I kick myself for being such an open book. Times like now, when I feel like a crumpled up piece of paper that somebody threw at the trash can. When the mad is gone and nothing but the raw hurt is left, I wish I was better at putting up a tougher shield.

But I am not. So I'll take the hurt. I'll let it throb in my guts and rise up like bile in my throat. I'll put it down into words like I always do, little as they may mean to anyone else. I'll let myself feel lost. I'll pull the blankets around me tight as if they could stop the cold that comes from the inside. I'll thank God for the fucking flu that means pretty soon I'll be knocked out on NyQuil instead of awake and praying for the phone to ring.

And maybe it's the fever talking, but I'll hold out the tiniest of tiny hopes that this isn't really another ending. The hopeful heart gets broken more than it gets held, but also gets another chance now and then.

.Thinking to Myself.

God, I feel like a rubber band that's being stretched too tight. It's my job to hold everything together but no matter how strong I've been eventually it's going to become too much. If I snap everything will be scattered to hell and back; but if I show weakness, I'll get thrown away. There's no room for weakness.

If I could just rest for a little while...will you help me hold it together? Unwind me for a bit, just one wrap or two and I'll come back as strong as ever. Should I break, though, the pieces will be mine and mine alone to pick up.

There ain't no rest for the wicked, but I promise I'll be good.

.Good Morning Sunshine.

I never was a morning person until I gave birth to one, and now I'm all about that early-to-bed, early-to-rise business.

It's still dark when that little voice pipes up from the crib across the room. There's no snooze button on that alarm. Feet on the cold, creaking floor (where the hell did I leave my slippers?), scoop up and snuggle the baby close until I get the thermostat turned up and the furnace groaning to life (his face is pure sunshine, and he pats my cheeks). Turn the burner on under the tea kettle, then turn it back off because who knows how long it'll take to wrestle Sam into a fresh diaper and get his breakfast fixed and in his squirmy belly...I can't count how many times I've boiled that thing over.

When the baby's dry and fed, and Curious George is holding his attention (although I'm not sure that felonious little monkey is the best role model), I finally sit with my tea cup in hand. God bless caffeine. From this chair, I have the perfect view -- the morning sunlight is just peeking pink and orange over the tops of the foothills, dusting the frosty backs of the horses as they stir and snort their request for breakfast. The goats aren't even awake yet.

The tired doesn't even register anymore, except at night when I tuck into bed under the big afghan my momma made me. And even then, it just feels like a day lived fully. When the baby's snoring and my last goodnight has been said, my heart flutters with contentedness and love. The demons that still live inside me don't get much of my time anymore. Someimes they rise to the surface to fight with sweet dreams for my attention, but at the end of the day there's too much waiting for me on the other side of sleep to revel in their company for too long.