I'm in a pretty shitty place.  Can't exactly put my finger on it...Can't really explain why or how or who or what or when about any of it.  Because frankly I don't know myself.  I do know that I should be cooking dinner.  In fact, as I type, the ingredients that should be dinner are scattered across my kitchen counter in a state of disarray not normally seen in this house.  And I. don't. care.  I started dinner.  I put on my favorite Pandora radio station.  And then the day came crashing down on me.  And instead of opening a can of enchilada sauce, I opened a bottle of wine.  Music plays in the background.  A beautiful Celtic piece...a piece my fingers, dormant for oh so many years, long to play.  I watch my children from the window.  Playing in the snow.  They are beautiful.  I often can't believe they are mine.  Will they look back and remember this day?  What will they remember about me?... 
I think to myself "You really shouldn't be in such a shitty place"...but I can't talk myself out of it.  And so I decide to dwell right where I am.  Dinner halfway made.  Music playing that makes me weep.  Wine.  Snow shoveling, laughing children.