This is the hardest thing I’ve ever been through. I miss Mom so much. I’m so sad for Dad. I’m still flat. I only have one “real” feeling.

I’m so flat. I feel a minor degree of excitement at the prospect of change and progress at work…but it’s not much.

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I’m here. Here I am.

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There’s too much to be spilled. Too much life….no, not enough in me. Too much being asked for. Too many people needing too much. I feel guilt for every iota held back.

The idea of a private life is still mysterious to me. I don’t know how to have one…how to get and hold onto one. I feel the pull to drain everything, but the simultaneous urge to hold back. I feel that I will die if I let it all go…dying is good though.

The prospect of being a disappointment hangs over my head like a giant black cloud. It’s always there…always promising a down pour, but only delivering earth shaking thunder….lightning that suddenly flashes out of the heavy darkness and strikes the ground of my life, rupturing my ear drums, causing me to cower with my head between my legs, eyes clinched shut, crying as loud as I can in a vain effort to drown out the overwhelming noise. That’s not all…it starts fires too.

A dry cloud.

If I manage to gain enough courage to move from my hiding place, I can scramble to maybe two or three of the small but growing fires that were recently started. I frantically dance upon these little fires, spitting out angry curses like my mouth is full of sand, and crying at the same time…desperate to put the fires out, wishing my tears of frustration were so voluminous as to drench them altogether…but they just fall from my cheeks as I madly stomp and spin…hissing as they evaporate…useless in the growing flames.

There are the occasional victories. A fire, that after great effort, is finally extinguished. As I pause, panting and smiling for just that instant, I become aware of how much I stink of soot and sweat and dirt, and my eyes take in all the smoldering hot spots. Dozens…hundreds. The fires still burning just beneath the surface of the dry needles and twigs. They’re everywhere.

Thunder rolls again and I look up, desperate for rain.