ew. angst.

not enough. not enough. not enough. not enough. not enough I can type it until the letters lose meaning but it will stay, carved into the backs of my hands and the top of each page I write where I can always see it. I am thinking less of the pages in magazines saying lose weight lose lines lose frizz and more of words yelled or muttered in the kitchen and upstairs hallway of my adolescence. 

not enough problems correct

not enough crumbs wiped

not enough hours spent in Grandma's quiet house

not enough muscle 

not enough work hours scheduled, not enough job applications, not enough salary, not enough notice about wanting the car

not enough time spent downstairs, not enough of an answer to questions about tomorrow night, not enough chores and too much sleep

not enough Being a Part of This Family

not enough calories to sustain a monthly cycle.

and then later, not enough sex for the man, not enough time spent studying for the A, not enough credits for a second major, not enough sleep to have dreams or an end to the backaches, not enough research credentials or work experience or cover letter revisions to get hired, not ever enough.

no surprise, really, that now I can't tell which are my thoughts and which are echoes of old words. and less of a surprise that occasionally I wonder whether I listen well enough, whether I ask enough questions or too many, whether I understand enough of what's between the lines of things you say. this is what i really am wondering today, and that up there is why.