I'm supposed to 'find myself'.
I hadn't realised I was lost - I thought I was right here
but apparently not.
Perhaps I can have a quick look
while I'm searching for the kids' homework
or library books or school shoes.
Or my husband's papers
that were on the table just five minutes ago.
Perhaps there's a small part of me left behind on the stage at high school
(I was going to be the Next Big Thing, you know).
And another part in with the dried up paints that I didn't have time to use
(I have all the right equipment, just didn't get round to it).
I think there might be a bit on the shelf at the supermarket
where I let the children choose nutritionally-devoid, full of sugar, rubbish cereal
because I couldn't stand the whining any longer
and just wanted to get out
before I left behind my sanity
as well as my good intentions.
I'm almost certain there's some of me
in amongst the laundry (clean and dirty) waiting in piles for attention,
and in with the unwashed dishes that seem to breed in the kitchen sink
and in the notes from school and party invitations
and meeting agendas and family calendars and emails from clients.
There are little pieces of me on the world wide web
and with people who matter
and some precious gems that manage to keep their hopeful glow
locked deep inside.