What am I?

I’m the one who’s always a bit early for work while everyone else saunters in late with no apologies. 

The one who, after washing a colleague’s cup have found more dishes being left dirty at the end of each day.

The one people ask for help because I’m reliable and the ones supposedly close to them are not.

I run myself ragged with a smile on my face.  I want to be there, be kind even though inside I feel like I’m going insane. 

I want to help.  I do help but I’m not respected.

I’m the one who can’t remember what you said about something, who doesn’t want to make decisions about fun things. 

The one who used to be creative and in some small way tries but fails miserably.

I am the one you say ‘isn’t listening.’

I’m the dotty one who smiles politely but seems a bit dim, not all there. 

Not cultured or arty. 

Never a threat.

The one who does so much it’s exhausting to articulate to the person who should be helping me.

I’m the one who is unlikely to change for better or worse.

Do I misunderstand them or am I misunderstood? 

How does it all work?

There is one thing I’m good at.

Mum.