Friday, November 16, 2012


Dear Friday,

Please don't suck my will to live. Please go slow and quickly at just the right times. Help me Jesus, show the sort of love I should show to you. The non-wrathful, non-judgmental kind. The patience, and perseverence kind even as it rolls to 840pm and the coughing becomes nonstop sort of incessance. And because of the coughing my body temp rises and my forehead becomes hot and the kids are all slumped and blurry eyed and i'm on my last sip of water. We are all, Jesus, waiting for bed. A second mighty wind. Something.

xo, m.


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