SOS

I wish to be the writer at Starbucks.

Laptop opened.

Latte in hand.

and life so put together.

Instead I am here.

and my life has never been a perfectly crocheted blanket.

Each loop perfectly wrapped around the next.

Not that it has the slightest chance to be.

I have a 1-year-old.

I get the stares, but they are different from the stares given to the mysterious writer dude.

No.

I get the stares from the silent judges.

The ones ready to sentence me with a look.

"Keep your son in line!"

"Why is he crying?"

"Take him home."

No one approaches.

No one has the balls.

They are all mute.

I can hear him crying.

I think about crying.

I wish to have quiet moments to think.

I think.

Of course, I think.

But I think about bottles,nap-time, and diapers.

Why is he crying now?

I send out an SOS.

No one responds.

Unless you can read Morse Code, DO NOT LOOK AT ME LIKE i SHOULD KNOW WHAT'S WRONG.

Help me Starbucks dude.

Help me j.udgyMcjudgy pants.

Help me read the signs, because I am not fluent in Morse Code either.