I had the most horrible day today. My son is sick, my foot hurts so bad that I am really worried it's broken again, my mom gave me absolutely terrible news about a surgery she needs immediately, and I have had horrible communication issues with my husband to the point that we are so frustrated I think we could both easily give up on each other if we were the giving-up type (we are not).
The crazy thing is that while I sat on the couch watching Chelsea Lately, the pressure cooker of my mind working hard on the events of the day, I wrote a poem about disconnected communication that I am really happy with. I couldn't physically get to a pen or paper, so I texted it to my husband who was at the grocery store in frantic disaster mode, likely fearing more than me the potential that I won't be able to walk tomorrow. He replied with "Like:)" which was good enough to make things between us a little better, good enough to end the hostility and frustration that was filling my mind and keeping me awake.
The irony is I needed two footnotes for my poem, one for each of the different meanings of the same word, in a poem about the difficulty communicating today, about being lost amid all the words, spoken and not. I needed footnotes just in case the reader didn't understand.
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