One minute of rant; one moment of funny

So... not a good couple of days. I think I may need more help than sympathetic ears and on-tap multi-generational snuggles. Can't really talk about it because (a) I already growled at my parents when they insisted that I tell them (b) mostly I don't know.

I do have a very strong feeling that my squeaky vocal delivery and my default-setting smiles are interfering with everyone's ability to take my weltschmerzen seriously. That and the suspicion that everyone has fallen for my protestations: Really, you guys! Really! Cooking and cleaning up after and chauffeuring and entertaining a family of six while prepping and teaching and grading three courses (90 students; at least twenty seem to e-mail me every day) is nothing. Really, it's easy!

The teaching and a houseful of family IS fun and I'm sincere about being grateful to be able to do it. Then also, feels like there is something I could/should do to care for myself--but I don't know what. Therapy? A drug regimen? More than six hours of sleep? Not caring if the house looks ready for the photo team from Architectural Digest every fucking minute? That the kids get assigned and balanced calories at every meal? What?

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We're listening to the radio stories about 9/11 with tight throats and goosebumps. Amma breaks the spell with an earnest warning that none of us should go downtown today. Our downtown =  < 3500 people. Any terrorist coming for us would have to be lost. Or a total underachiever.

_

Bike Path (Out)

In vain is the art of rain
I'm too far away children.
Children: help yourself. Until

I come for you, elastic-ed back. 

It's only nine miles to Spring-

field on a bike. Can feel longer 

walking, walking, walking,

carrying with me my words.

From either side of summer

robin breast and leaf windfall

commune, conspire to beat

in ongoing song, my surprise

the downfall of buried life--

And awake, even wilderness

becomes shelter, so all alone--

every one inherently memories.

__

Glen Helen (Lost)

I imagined myself walking, 

morning made itself a hike

No one knows where I am.

So no one can help me now

(if they wanted to)

If today I woke up 

some other died 

in my place

(with my face)

These roots for rock

lean on mossy claws.

Open, distance unlocks:

the wrong turn every time 

and lengthens why I'm here.

Become beautiful. Unreliable

--like leaves aged and plaid.

_

Sometimes Only Mama Will Do

Beloved Grandson

Lucky Granddaughter

Kisses!