it feels good

i am blessed, i am blessed, i am blessed, i remind myself as the warmth of the sun brushes against my skin, kissing the girls' cheeks as they play peek-a-boo. behind me sits a bag of grout, another of cement, and nine boxes of yet-to-be-laid tile. this may just be the first moment i have allowed myself to admit this, the light pouring into the room still, blessing.

why is it hard to count them? the good things? david could tell you so so quickly it's not my strong suit. i stir and i wallow and i sulk far too often. it feels good to let the bitterness brew. it feels good to let the anger simmer a bit.