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One day I hope to be able to make sense of all this.  One day I hope to be able to find the right words and sentences, the right semantics and syntax to convey all this properly…

Sometimes family is your rock.  Sometimes family is a rock that pelts you in the head.  Sometimes family is a boulder than falls from on high and crushes your bones and spirit into a pool of bloody dust.

Sometimes the people who are supposed to mean the most treat you in ways that make them mean very little.  Sometimes the people who care the most about you don’t share a drop of your blood, a strand of similar DNA besides species markers.

Sometimes it doesn’t matter what you do or say.  Sometimes people make the wrong decisions for their own reasons.  Sometimes those reasons make no sense.  Sometimes the people can’t articulate the reasons.  Sometimes the reasons aren’t there, just the feeling that running away is better than any conceivable alternative.

Sometimes failure is hard.  Sometimes it’s easy.  Sometimes what you’re running from is the safe choice and what you’re running to is the unknown.  Sometimes the unknown feels like the safe choice because it’s what’s familiar.

Sometimes you throw fruits.  Sometimes you throw vegetables.  Sometimes you throw beans.  Sometimes you throw shoes into mirrors.  Sometimes you throw furniture.  Almost always you throw insults and obcenties.

Sometimes kids choke mom.  Sometimes brothers stab each other.  Sometimes teenagers get arrested for prostitution.  Sometimes lost little girls decide to date twenty-seven-year-old women or forty-eight-year-old men.  Sometimes seventeen-year-olds have drug-related holes in their synapses so big one wonders how the body remembers to walk.  Sometimes kids shoot each other over what amounts to a video game or a misunderstood love or a color.

Sometimes it seems like too much.

Sometimes it’s never enough.

Sometimes it’s just another day.