Just Write: Stepping around it

Everything is in a state of disarray.

5:44 p.m., and my bare feet have been dodging landmines of pointy Noah's ark animals, the sharp edges of rescue heroes for hours.

But I refuse shoes, socks, anything that would play buffer to the full force of my weight pressing into the pieces of life scattered around the house.

There's a warm breeze flowing in from the windows, and today is the first day in too many that my feet haven't been cold pressed against the hardwood floors.

I pick my battles.

And I choose them carefully.

Until I don't.

Because sometimes I can't remember what I'm fighting rather I just know that I'm picking up the sword, forgetting all about the Armour.

And sometimes I get all caught up in what's pressing into my skin in the immediacy -- the cold winds of a too-early, too-cold fall or the fine chilled mist of colder-than-normal September mornings.

And I get so busy with those, that I don't remember what I'm really battling are the little elephants in the room that send jolts of sharp pain through my body when I step on them after I've briefly {sort of but not really} forgotten, or maybe just stepped around them for a few moments in the midst of living.