Problem solving myself
Sometimes its a clear cut event.
Often its not.
Sometimes you just have a stressed mother and too many emotional responsibilities.
Sometimes you are alright until the pressure stops, and you realise how bad it was. And then it gets worse.
I catch myself wishing it was something else. Something easier. More defined. Understandable.
Not this puddle of muddy water that never drains. The silent omnipresent hum I hear when I'm left alone.
And I wish, from the bottom of my heart and the top of my brain, that I could solve it. Like a puzzle game on the phone, or a cross word in the magazine. Like all those murder mysteries I grew up with, and the research questions I've devoted my life to solving.
But with all my degrees, all my wit and intellect, I am powerless to solve the problem of me.












