I think of writing. I daydream in snippets of conversations, one-sided, and these discarded thoughts clutter the corners of my mind like dust. Living, breathing motes of wants and needs and will dos... someday.

The year is drifting by. I am consumed by work and the all-encompassing negativity of situations I'd rather avoid. Management takes too much and gives nothing back. That might be the folly of an industry without a future, built on adrenaline and alcohol. I imagine I could be happy if I wanted to merely exist like this indefinitely. Whitewater rafting is a career for some.

My future goals revolve around classrooms and libraries. I can't wait to return to college. The plan is several years in the making, but worth the wait. Always worth the wait.

Lunch, laundry, and Sesame Street are equally vying for my attention. The kiddos are enjoying the single hour of television I allow (grandparents are luxuries). I want to focus this excess creative energy on something soul-fulfilling, but that would require staying up instead of falling asleep with them after reading chapters of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. My days at home belong to them.

I'll have my time...