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May 27 Empty

I'm laying across the bed in our hotel room in Cuba. The weather is super shit outside. Its our first day and I'm completely exhausted from everything. I've some how managed to trigger a food coma from olives, churros, and stale fries. Promise you I'm not pregnant. This is legitimately our food situation right now. 

 My husband is passed out and snoring away while Rihaan is trying to shit - Lord knows hes been trying for 4 days now. 

He's on all fours with his bum swaying in my face, contracting his muscles - full moment - I thought to myself, fuck my life is passing by and I haven't gotten around to writing again. I'm missing this whole side to me, I feel disconnected from where I'm supposed to be. Writing satisfies me in a way I can't explain. Emptying my thoughts onto paper is fulfilling in a way I can't quite describe. 

I learned to write well in summer school while taking Grade 11 English. I cant recall the name of that particular English teacher, but I have her to thank for being able to articulate my thoughts. I always had a mouth but now it was my strongest suit. Maybe the universe has always been sending me swift signals urging me to write. (Like right now).

30 minutes later, this guy is still trying to shit and my husband hasn't moved an inch. Maybe Ill unpack a little so that I'm organized for the half a minute we're here. Shit, once Rihaan empties, what am I going to feed this guy in Cuba? I did the math wrong, I think? I forgot to factor in how physical activity correlates to higher food consumption. I don't have enough, I think. "Hashtag momfail". I am seriously suffering form packing amnesia, I can't remember what's here, in which bag, and what I took out last minute. Every thing is always jumbled up in my head, I've been on over drive for as long as I could remember. But then again, can I seriously remember lol? What can I do but laugh at myself? Being a functioning mom is fucking hard. 
Location: Cayo Coco, Cuba

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