The trouble with tribbles

The trouble with having such an active imagination is the fact that you are able to imagine that you have nothing in common with anyone else. No one else spends all day in the clothes they slept in...no one else spends far too much time on Facebook looking at their friends photos, and believing that this tiny little snippet of life that they've crafted to share with you encapsulates their life, i.e. theirs is fabulous, and they look that good all the time. No one else has writers block when they are sitting at the computer, but can't turn off their brain's amazingly witty banter when they are doing the most mundane of tasks..i.e. if the dishwasher breaks I'll finish my book in a week. No one else yells at their kids when really their kids didn't do anything wrong, it's just one of those days where you beat yourself up for wasting all the creative time you had pre kids. It's an irony ( or is it cuz I can never really use that word correctly ) that having children heightened my creativity, or at least allowed me to access it in ways I hadn't previously, but...I don't have the time to do anything with all these ideas. I digressed...I was complaining, no I was whining...no I was casually pointing out...no I was considering ( in my own convoluted way) the possibility that perhaps at this very moment I am not the only Mother sitting at her computer in the clothes she slept in at 2:30 in the afternoon with a sink full of dishes and two loads of laundry on the couch to be folded and a head full of chapters, a table full of wire and beads putting band aids on my two year old's nipples cuz that's where her imaginary boo boo is ( they are the kind that come off with no pain by the way) Perhaps it is only my imagination that tells me that I am the only one!