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Singing the Blues

I’m feeling down right now.

I’m not going to share the reason for my sadness.

I will say that as I sit here at 1:00 in the morning, I am taken back to an event that occurred when I was very young.

I remember a house, sparsely decorated and sporting wooden floors.

My mom and dad were arguing.

As my dad sat on the couch, in tears, my mom walked out the front door.

She was headed to work.

As I looked at my dad, who looked very much like a child in his crumpled up position on that couch, I knew I had to do something.

I remember running out the front door in hot pursuit of my mom.

I begged her to go back into the house.

She did.

The last memory I have from that moment in time was my parents talking.

They wound up getting divorced, so the talking must not have done any good.

I think that’s where my sense of having to fix things comes from.

Whether it’s a broken wheel on a lawn mower or a broken heart, I find myself wanting…no…NEEDING to fix the problems that cross my path.

More often than not, I can’t.

That causes me to sing the blues at 1am when I should be happily running, in a slow-motion sort of way, through the flower-laden fields that make up the dreams I should be dreaming.