I ate toast over the sink again

Dear Delyara, At this point, I don’t think it’s an accident. It’s a lifestyle. The children had eaten, dinner was done enough, one more small thing still needed sorting, and somehow instead of making myself a proper plate and sitting down like a person who deserves to take up space in her own evening, I stood at the sink eating toast like I was between emergencies. I caught myself doing it and felt that familiar sadness. Not because toast is tragic. Because it says something about the way I move through my own life. Slightly apologetic. Slightly temporary. Slightly ready to be interrupted before my own needs are fully complete. I don’t want to keep living like an afterthought to my own hunger.