Sometimes I just feel like throwing up my hands and saying,

“Fuck it.”

This isn’t in reference to just ONE thing. It’s in reference to a LOT of things.

Uphill battles that seem to go nowhere fast.

Long, depressing slogs through life’s issues.

Honestly, there are days, when I’m walking somewhere, and I just want to keep walking. No turning around. No going home. Just walking. Constant and dogged forward movement.

I don’t know where I’d go, or how I’d feed myself, or where I’d sleep. Those aren’t as important as just moving forward. Chances are I wouldn’t stop long enough to think about food or sleep. I’d just be walking until I dropped.

In those moments, that situation makes a lot of sense. It seems so plausible. So do-able.

Except…

The Kid.

Not H. Not my family. Not my friends. The Kid.

I couldn’t see just walking away from her. Not like that. Certainly not now.

So whenever I get that feeling. That urge to just throw up my hands, say “Fuck it.” and walk off into the sunset. I see her face. Peeking just above the living room windowsill. Watching. Waiting. And I know I have to come back.

Take from this what you will. I leave it open to interpretation. Bend it, mold it, shape it to fit whatever form you need it to fit.

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