Do the Dirty Work

Yes, love, there is sweetness.  Yes, love, there are flowers.  There's red lipstick and

lace panties

(yes,underwear jealousyis a theme for me right now.) 

Yes, dear, there are sunsets, lazy with tea and wine.  Yes, dear, there are sleepy mornings, fog rolling in, down ensconced.

We heart these lovelies.  We embrace the moments between the sweat and the tears.  Or, at least, we try. 

But there is also the dirty.   

There's the dog shit, the cat puke, the kids screaming and the

damn sun rising too soon.

There's the never-glam scrubbing of tiles.  The making of the money, the driving to the bank, the carrying the groceries to the car, the cutting the toenails.  There is the everyday and the mundane

and the sudden and beautiful and wild.

 Somehow, these things have gotta learn how to share space.  How to dance with each other, spinning and spinning through this thing called life.

There is something beautiful about bearing witness to the grunt labor.  Those business women sitting there entering line item after line item in their quickbooks.  Those mama's bouncing babes on their hips while pushing mops, folding clothes.  Those masons stacking brick after brick, building the foundation of a home.  In the basic tasks of life, there is freedom, there is routine, there is good, old fashioned hard work.  

Today I am tired of the lazy.   Annoyed at the self-righteous.  Frustrated at the spoiled.

Go out and work, people.  Only then do you deserve to rest. 

(or trick or treat) 

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