Letting Life Lead
I no longer have my own thoughts in the morning, not since having my first child five years ago. These days the three year old, who is one of those morning people, buzzes in my ear, “Waydup, Momma. Waydup. I havda yoguck? Yoguck, pweesh. Yoguck!” It is all I can do to translate into English and mumble, “Later. Go back to sleep.” Then the thinking starts and a decision is made. What we are having for breakfast is leftover soup. That’s right soup for breakfast and maybe we’ll have breakfast for dinner because this is our house and we can eat any food whenever we want. Stupid rules need not apply. By now the gift of oblivion or the relief of dreams is gone and I can only marvel at all the painful sleep sand in my right eye, my full bladder, and the weight of the cat on my back. First light? More like first plight.
The Literary (or Junk) Writings of Leslie Muzingo
Poetry, History, Mythology
Confessions of a White Trash Hoe
Learn to Live
Fiction, Nonfiction, and Poetry Journal
TinyPurpleMe: Part Two
Illustrated Short Stories
Essays and reviews on narrative in games and new media
My reflections of life in general.