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I am writing “messy” because I feel messy inside and out.

My house is messy. My finances are messy. My spirit is messy.  My intentions are messy. My whole life is a mess.

I have not worked out in almost a week: no yoga, no aerobics. Tell me, where is fresh air?

I have not had a vegetable in days.

My head feels like someone took barbed wire and wrapped it tightly.

I am perpetually tired. I am not just sleepy or exhausted. I am worn down.

My day-to-day has become Chinese torture: you know the drop that falls on your forehead not just for minutes or hours but for days.

The drop is my life. The drop is earning a living and having no way to pay for that living. The drop is coming home and not seeing comfort but walking into a mirror of chaos. The drop is the inner rant that won’t stop raging in my head or stomping my heart. The drop is doing what I have to do day in and day out and keeping my care wrapped like a butterfly in my hands so when I am able to I can let her fly so I can feel.

This is a one-dimensional temper tantrum. It’s flat like the computer screen and no can see me kicking and screaming.

But I am kicking life as hard as I can so I can keep the energy going in my legs to walk and the flow moving though my veins so I can write.

I am screaming at a decibel only my cats hear as they purr and knead and offer comfort to me.

I am done crying. I won’t give up. There’s no beginning or end. I am blessing the middle with my angst and tenacity so tomorrow will come after today and I will do what I must, go where I need, give what I can, live the only way I can: handling love with the tendrils of my heart and protecting care under my feet so each step has meaning to give me direction to continue the life I lead.

I don’t want to end a thing. I want new beginnings. I want sunrise to blossom with pinks and oranges and lavenders. I want the moon’s eyelash to settle out my window so I can settle my eyes on the night sky. I want to wake with prayer in my heart and hope in my eyes. I want to invite sleep with the ease of a newborn and let it coo me into dreams of mountain tops, wild horses and herb gardens.

I want to keep wanting. I hope to keep hoping. I love to keep loving.

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Ed: Brianna Bemel