Lump

"How am I supposed to do it?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to do it?" she says as she feels her cheeks redden.

"I go over and over and over it again and I just don't know how I'm supposed to do it. And what makes me feel worse is that I know there are women in much worse situations than I."

The lump in her throat seems to find it's food source in this thought and burrows itself in.

"I work, I work full time and get more than minimum wage. I watch what I spend, and still come up short."

The lump is feeding and filling itself like a wood tick that has gorged itself gray and is ready to pop.

"I don't want to rely on him or anyone else, and yet, here I sit, a couple of months without Child Support, and I'm broke, beyond broke.... and him? Well he's living life without worrying about providing for a little girl, knowing school is starting soon, she will need supplies, yet he lives without the fear of not being able to stay afloat."

And with that flash of anger, she has given the lump dessert, it is now fat and happy and she can no longer seem to breathe.