trying to remember why I wanted this life. the little hands, the sticky kisses, the noise… it all felt so vital once. now it just feels like a constant drain. Chris says I need a hobby. as if I have time to breathe, let alone paint again. maybe when they're older. maybe then I'll find myself again. or maybe this is just who I am now. a shell of the person I used to be. a shell filled with goldfish crackers and cold coffee.