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Sometimes I realize just how un-thick my skin is.

Sometimes I feel as if I try too hard to please others.

Sometimes breathing is enough.

Sometimes I'm amazed at the capacity we have to hurt one another.

Sometimes I try to be too much, too many selves.

Sometimes I'm spread too thin.

I feel this little pit of frustration, of sorrow inside of me, and I know there is a string of reasons. I feel blue inside and out, like I reached my peak capacity for the negative column a few days ago and forgot to notice. It's that kind of hibernate-under-the-bed ache. Do you know it?

It's late winter here in Minnesota. Last weekend, we had a sunny day, and Ryan and I went to the work of clearing out the backyard. A few days later, the temperatures plummeted, and now, my hair is freezing in clumps as I walk outdoors, and snow covers the ground again, but mostly--ice. Not that thin sheen we slip on, but those thick cakes strategically placed for optimum irritability, our cars parked slightly at a slant, our doors jammed up on the walk.

Sometimes it's like this, a slump down, a need for an explosively good something to come along. Or just a good night with friends, you know? Unfortunately, this is not on my docket for a little while--mostly, it's just jury duty and grading facing me. Five hours of sleep, that uncomfortable cycle, and dogs who haven't had enough attention. I will crawl out of this, I know, but being here, right now, it's exhausting. I want to sleep through the night tonight.