the adventures of pamalicious

I cried this morning.  Not shoulder wracking soul quenching tears, but that steady stream that came down in sync to the rain outside my truck window.  Take yourself back to being 8, you were in a deep sleep and then here comes your momma talking about get up.  You open your eyes and the frustration of breaking your sleep and being on someone elses time overtakes you and you cry out:  I don’t want to go!!!  Well grow it up and there you have it.

Yesterday was telling for me. The productivity was enormous and the feeling peaceful. I had to take a “Can I just be a wife and mother and individual” moment to get my equilibrium back.  You know this whole rat race thing really isn’t my thing.  A lot of folks have been working and what not since they were 16, well I haven’t.  My work history in particular is quite short if you ask me.  In my first marriage, out of the 10 years, 6 of them were spent being a…housewife.  I worked if there was something in particular that we wanted to try to do, but otherwise - I took care of him, our house, my crafts at the time, volunteer work and that was it.  After he passed, due to insurance and whatnot, I stayed home with mini-me until she went to Kindergarten.  This whole rat race thing - is only about 10 years old. 

I look up sometimes and the realization, usually provoked by an incident, that there are these ‘chains’ attached to me constricts my chest so bad, that I get short of breathe - - YOU DON’T OWN ME.  I am not to be bartered, traded and loaned out as….PROPERTY.  YET, don’t be fooled, that’s what you are if you don’t see your name on the stationery.  The entire thing has become a revolving game of I like to call the Cotton Bag Chronicles.  No matter how many rows you pick, even if you pick others rows to help them - let there be one white poppy left and that’s your ass.  It’s never ending because there seems this uncanny ability to make one magically appear. 

To be raised without chains only to leave that safety and be captured is a hard thing to swallow.  My mind and spirit are free but I am still shackled.  I look at the sea of faces I encounter in life on the daily and it’s so telling behind their eyes.  I wonder can they really see what’s behind mine - actually no, I’ve been charged with ‘not being able to be read”  ain’t THAT a scary notation - job well done Pam, lol. 

Folks always saying write write write. I wrote about this before but my ability to story tell does not guarantee a literary award, lol  Funny when all of your skills need to be harvested by yourself so that only ONE of you starve.  Creativity be damned.

I have always understood and felt the pain of women who work outside the home. Just because my child is no longer an infant does not mean that I don’t want to stay home.  Can I not have to go to the grocery at 7am on a Saturday so as to not take up valuable weekend time? Can I get my dinner on the table to my family by 6pm so that we won’t gain weight and my diabetes won’t be out of whack from eating so late?  Can I take my man’s clothes to the cleaners, run errands for him, schedule drs. appts. and be the manager of my own time?! 

My day was relevant, full and productive in a space that I enjoy.  I can see the floor of my bedroom finally.  My husband came in and said “Honey I’m home” and it felt good.  So sue me I’m a traditionalist at heart. 

I am praying that God shows me the guidance on what to do with my life, because I have so much of it left to live.  What I know is that this ain’t it.  Exactly at what point does this revelation become the pathway and window to what it is that awaits me. 

In the meantime and in between time, I am almost getting my equilibrium back (which basically means - I’m getting my game face back on and you can approach me again, lol) and I’ll keep on waiting on my lottery winnings to come through….a girl can dream, sometimes it’s what keeps you from crying on the daily.

So exactly what is my wish?