I am unpacking French documents.
You probably think that this is all I ever do.
There are days that I wish that were true.
But it's not.
I also worry.
I worry about which little soul needs a packed lunch.
And who has come without breakfast.
I worry about whose family is breaking up.
And who has spent too much time at the hospital.
I worry about who doesn't know their vowel sounds.
And how many headlice there are.
You can't blame me for having so many French documents.
It's a form of escapism.
They're for my mental health.