Breeding and Writing: The people I can’t be

–by Tracy Lucas

I’m having the hardest time being a wife lately.

I don’t have creative energy and love at the same time. They seem to be mutually exclusive.

Either it’s dishes or dharma; laundry or literature. I can’t seem to (pardon the pun) marry the two women I intend to be.

I have a good husband. Not in that serf-ish, settling, he’s-the-practical-guy-to-partner-with way. That’s not a weak disclaimer or pathetic cop-out, either.

I actually like him. I picked him on purpose. We’ve been friends the whole time, which has been a while now, and there’s no one I’d replace him with.

I don’t regret.

It’s just not smooth.

I turn out all of the lights and dig out my favorite old Oasis tune to get me in the mood. I poise my virtual pen, head swimmy and universal, and I feel the back of my neck swell with tingling veins of…

See?  Fuck. He just snored.

Mindset gone.
Words, vanished.
My head’s fallen off again for the company I keep.

And the kid wants something to drink.
And the cat’s crying for food.
And practically speaking, I should be asleep.
I have work to do tomorrow.

Electricity will have to wait.

Meanwhile, I’ll grow another day older, another day away.