Money is, once more
getting tight. (Understatement,
if ever was one.

Everything running
low: time, patience, sex, ketchup,
and, as mentioned, dough.

(Yes, I said ketchup.
We have a toddler in the
house. All foods are red.)

Could I get a job?
Easier said than done with
Eric being on call.

If I work nights and
Eric gets called in to work,
what happens to Sam?

If I work days, we'd
have to pay for daycare. (And
I'd miss him so much.)

It was the car that
pushed our budget over the
edge. Dumb injectors.

Talked to Marcia,
my editor. Maybe more
assignments for me?

Haven't heard back yet,
though she tipped me off to a
possible new job.

Worry breeds tension,
tension sparks arguments, and
life's a battleground.

I love him so much.
He loves me too. When we get
along, we fit well.

But he's scared crapless -
wolf at the door nightmares - and
feels inadequate.

I'm making hats and
other knitted things. A friend
sells them in her store.

(Faster! Knit faster!
The items sell, but faster
than can be replaced.)

I write to bring in
extra cash, too. It helps, but
will it be enough?

And there is the fact
that I'm not the only one
who wants me at home:

Eric and I have
discussed the matter up and
down, and we agree.

But still...oh, but still...
I need to fix this, if it
can at all be fixed.

May's WordGoddess collaboration: "Write an entry entirely in haiku."