Charred

Have you ever left a grilled cheese sandwich on just a little too long? Didn't get the garlic bread out of the oven right when the timer went off? How about toasting Pop Tarts on the bagel setting?

Well, tonight I almost ruined dinner. And, as I was scraping the black dust off of Alistair's sandwich with a butter knife (hoping to save our dinner), it dawned on me: I have become the grilled cheese sandwich. Not only do I eat one for dinner at least once a week, but I am burning as well.

As each week progresses, I get more and more tired. I need more and more coffee. I feel more and more ALONE. My bottom layer starts to burn and, by Friday, I begin to char. You wouldn't know if it weren't for the smoky haze filling the kitchen.

But, then......Friday night....Noah arrives, turns off the burner and by just BEING here, he scrapes off some of the blackened edges and I can be salvaged.

We get to be a family for 2 whole days and I pretend to be ok, but the process begins again the next week and, eventually, the edges will be crunchy, so we'll have to cut off the crust. And if we can't scrape off all the black, then we'll just add ketchup to mask the flavor. But, at some point, we would have scraped off so much black that there isn't enough left to be considered a satisfying meal.

This is how I feel most days.

I am not whole.

I am burned and broken.

I am raw and melted.

My outer layers have burned away.

There isn't much left of me.



- Posted from my iPad