From the middle of the mess

Today, my kindergartner stayed home sick from school. I feel like a mess. I'm tired of feeling like a mess.

I'm committing to write anyway from the middle of the mess.

But why.

Why do I want to write every day? Why is that something that matters to me?

There's something about the idea of not breaking the streak, if committing to a practice, come what may, that appeals to me. That feels right to me. And right now, that's all I've got.

Every time I've tried to assign any other meaning to the practice I've been disappointed. I don't want to be disappointed. I don't want to quit even if I get disappointed. I don't want to try to prove myself a failure.

Again.

This post is messy like my house is messy, like my hair is messy,  like my brain is messy.

But here I am. Showing up.