Treading Water

I am thankful for what I have. Although, sometimes it would seem that it is all dangling by a mere piece of thin worn thread. I am getting by, striving to hold on to what I can. I am thankful for making it through another day with at least half my wits, a roof over us and health. My daughter is a given, nothing could bring me as much joy. I am blessed with a loving family whether I have known them my whole life or only a part. Even the family I grew up with. They love in the way they know how, however abusive or dysfunctional it may be. I am thankful to have a job where I don't have to get on my knees to clean someone elses' mess, or pump gas (I have done both of these things, plus more. I will do whatever it takes to support my household, and I take pride in it too. Unlike some...)

I know the gifts I have been given. The support I have received. I know...

I didn't start this journal, diary, blog, in the hopes of entertaining the masses. I didn't start this to get across my political views and convictions, nor to convert anyone into my chosen faith. It was simply a way for me to see something. Some sort of creative fruit from my thoughts, whines, desires... Almost a validation, to myself, that my thoughts mean something. Even if it is only me that they mean anything to. I can't be interrupted, set aside or even just plain dismissed, mid-sentence. I like the emails (most of them) and comments I get from time to time. Whether it be a funny thought, hearty advice, an acknowledgment or even the somewhat sour and bitter kick in the teeth because I set someone off. I do not mean to upset anyone with my words, they are simply my perception from my own experience. Everyone has a right to their own and for that I make no apologies.

I am finding myself censored by my own hand. Writing out posts of frustration and then deleting them entirely so as not to appear too whiney, ungrateful or come off as being depressed. Guilt finds me if I write about the disappointment I feel with my life. It all ends up a battle within myself. I should be able to write about whatever I feel. That was the purpose of this to begin with.

I am not sure what I am saying here. I am tired and can't sleep because my stomach is yelling at me for eating that cheesecake. Hope hides from me every now and again, and Marco can't find Polo.