Stay At Home Mom VS. Working Mom---Revisited

Perspective.  I talk about it a lot.  Okay, I'm kind of obsessed with it.  I find that it alone, truly is the "cause" of all in the world.  Evil and good.  Fun and boring.  Depressive and elating.  It's all about the "perspective".

So, here I sit.  Finally, I sit.  I've been working at my husband's company since May and I've started working with the police department as a victim's advocate.  I'm also the room mom for my youngest's fifth grade class.  I'm a substitute crossing guard at the school.  I have friends and family who love, need and want me around.  I. Am. Blessed.  I. Am. Also. Overwhelmed.  I also finally have a "day off".

Now, here's where the perspective kicks into high gear, folks.  Am I a working mom or a stay at home mom?  I "work" for my husbands company two days a week.  I'm at the police department another two days a week (give or take a day here and there. .  .).  I help out at the school as needed.  I still clean my whole house, do all the laundry, all the cooking, all the shopping, all the baking, all the party planning, all the helping with homework, all the parent/teacher conferences, all the band-aid applying, all the hair "doing", all the lunch making. . . .you get the idea.  I'm here when my girls leave for school and I'm here when they get home (most days).  I still find the time to call the people whom matter to me the most.  I still reach out to friends in need.  I'm still a shoulder for anyone to cry on at any time.  I still pay the bills, on time.  I still manage to do everything that I did "before I went back to work", even whilst working.  Albeit, my house isn't "quite" as clean as it used to be.

Funny thing has happened though. . . .I'm getting many more offers for "help".  For example, I'm getting a "pass" from the teacher. . . .for the first time EVER!  I was told, by the teacher whom I've been the room mom for the entire school year, "If you need to step back from any of your responsibilities here, I totally understand.  You're a working woman now!"  Hmmmm. .  .what?  I have NEVER, in my "stay at home mom" days, been told that I could "step back".  It's almost an EXPECTATION that we "stay at home" moms are going to do EVERYTHING at the school.  Meanwhile, the working moms are "allowed" to send in store bought cupcakes.  They're responsible for "plates and napkins".  Are you kidding me?  You know what I'm talking about, "working women".  This is not a dig.  Not in the slightest.  It's just. . . .perspective.

Then, when I'm talking to my "working mom" friends, they tend to say things like "Well, at least you're not "really working"!'  Excuse ME???  They, of course, see me as a stay at home mom still.  They still expect my house to be perfect.  Home cooked meals to just "POOF" into existence.  I mean --- REALLY?  My professional moms still treat me like an impostor.  They still "pat me on my head" and say "Wow, I wish that I got to go home right now, too.".

So, here I sit.  In limbo.  Am I a working mom?  Am I a stay at home mom?  I suppose that it depends on who you talk to. . .thus, the person's PERSPECTIVE on things.  To those single moms out there who've had to work a fully time job since the day their baby was born just to put food on the table, they'd probably say, "Uh, hell no.  You are so NOT a working mom!"  Can I ignore their perspective?  Of course not.  I would, however, as them this. . .if you COULD stay home with your child, would you?  I mean, really think about it, ladies.  Would you?  I'm not talking about getting to spend some wonderful "quality time" with your kids; like on a vacation to say Disney World, or around the holiday table with Auntie Rose and Uncle Bob.  I'm talking about, sitting at home.  Day in and day out.  Some weeks not speaking to another adult except for the checker at the grocery store.  I'm talking about staring at the same four walls every single day and wondering how many more times you can scrub the same spot?  I'm talking about losing yourself entirely to your family.  Your house.  No affirmations here.  No one to give you a pat on the back.  No one to tell you what a good job you're doing.  Nothing.  Just you and your child(ren) and your house.  When the highlight of your week becomes running to Wal-Mart. . .how will that feel?

I've had a few of my "once" working moms become stay at home moms in the last few years.  What they've all told me is this. .  .."I had no idea how hard this was."  Can I get a "Hallelujah!!!!"?   You're damn right.  It IS hard.   It's a different kind of hard.  But, hard nonetheless.

Now, here I sit. .  ..with a day off.  A day that seven months ago, would have been like every other damn day of my life, but now. . .now it takes on a different meaning.  I have a different perspective on it.  Now, I just don't want to leave my house.  I want to "chill" inside.  Sit on my sofa.  Appreciate my four walls.  Don't ask me to leave and run a damn errand.  Don't ask me to do anything really.  Why?  Because I just want to scrub some spot on the wall.  What?  The?  Fuck??  Are we really always going to want that grass that's just on the other side of the fence?   I made the crucial mistake of saying, out loud, that I was bored.  I've equated it with "praying for patience".  We all know that you just DON'T DO THAT!!  Well, hell.  Don't say that you're bored either.

So I work.  In the end, I do.  I get up and drive across town, come hell or high water and I get a paycheck.  I also get up and drive across town, come hell or high water, to help out a total stranger.  For this, I do NOT get a paycheck. . .yet.  (Fingers crossed here. . . .)  I stand out in the rain with a stop sign to make sure that our kiddos can cross the street and get to school in one piece.  I organize holiday parties for fifth graders.  I clean a large house.  I do the laundry of four people. . .well really more like 7. . .I have a teenage daughter.  I bring home the bacon and fry it up in the pan. . .and never let you forget your a man.  Oh.  Wait.  I got side tracked.  I do that.  I'm tired.  Why?  Because I'm a working stay at home mom.  That's what I am.  I'm both.  It kinda sucks and it's kind of amazing.  All at the same time.  I'm getting to see the world from a new perspective.

Which one is better. . .a working mom or a stay at home mom?   (Come on, that's what you wanna know, right?  That's what it all comes down to in the end.  After all, we're Americans.  We need to "classify" everything, don't we??)  Well, I would say that I have respect for all moms.  It's hard.  The whole damn thing.  If you have to leave your sweet ones every single day and pray that someone else will love and keep them as well as you would, if you could.  That's hard.  Really hard.  If you have to stay home each and every day and not feel "appreciated" or "valued".  THAT'S hard.  Really hard.  So, I think what I want to get across here is this. . . .can we all stop competing and just start realizing that neither one is perfect.  Neither one is "superior".  Neither one has it "worse" or "better".  It's all just your perspective.

Take a deep breath. . . . . . .it's just another day in Perfect!!!!!

If I Seem (POEM)

If I seem hard,
Perhaps I've never known tenderness.

If I seem weak,
Maybe I trust you enough to be vulnerable.

If I seem bitter,
It might be because I've offered forgiveness, yet never been forgiven.

If I seem faithless,
The cause could be constant disappointment.

If I seem distant,
Maybe I'm too terrified to speak to you.

If I seem cold,
Try reaching out to me with some warmth.

If I seem sad,
My heart just might be shattered.

If I seem overly chipper,
Perhaps I'm hiding a deeper pain.

If I turn my back on you,
Try walking around towards my face.

If I seem aloof,
Maybe I don't know any other way to protect myself.

If I seem wounded,
Why not offer up a bandage of friendship?

If I seem to be too much to handle,
Perhaps that's more about how you seem. . . . .

At That Particular Time. . . .

Impressions.  Ideas.  Interpretations.  All of these are subjective.  They are also all false, contrived, pretend and constantly in flux.  One thing I know for sure is, what your impression is of someone has more to do with who YOU are and who you perceive them to be at the particular time that you both meet.  

For example, the people who went to high school with me have a very different idea about "who I am" than the stay at home moms who have met me in the last decade or so.  I've been "left behind" shall we say by several of my old high school friends.  I think, partially, because of who they believe me to be now; with little to no validity. Am I angry at them?  No.  I understand that they're basing their opinion on several things.  First and foremost, at that particular time, I was a train wreck of a person.  Hollow.  Empty.  Suffering.  Lonely.  Depressed.  Sad.  Pathetic.  Now, would you want to be my friend?  Of course not.  Then, as we all go older, I moved out of that place but still had some lingering "issues" (shall we say. . .) and clearly, I did NOT live up to their expectations about where I should be at THAT particular time.  Again, it's all a matter of timing, isn't it?

Now, fast forward to today and I've been shocked to find out from some of my more "recent" friends that they see me as: Strong.  Independent.  Intelligent.  Articulate.  Kind.  Generous.  Out spoken.  Loyal.  Hm?  Are they wrong?   Are they seeing something that my "old" (perhaps the word "previous" might be better here) friends aren't?  Are they better equipped to see the "real" me?  The authentic person I am?  Perhaps.  Strangely though, I find their assessment of me somehow unsettling.   Although, I've heard it time and time again recently, I can't seem to wrap my head or heart around it.  In so many ways, I still see myself through the lens of "that particular time", too.  Even though I know that now, I am strong.  I am independent.  I am smart.  I am well spoken.  I am kind.  I am generous.  I am loyal, to a fault.  I. AM.  Why is it always so much easier to believe the "bad" things about oneself than the good?  I feel as if, I'm telling all of my new friends some grand lie, just by being myself.  Don't they know that I suck?  Don't they know that I'm scared?  Don't they know that I'm anxious?  Don't they know that I'm broken?  Don't they know that I'm fragile?  Don't they know that I have horrible "baggage"?  Don't they know I can't find a reason to be loved?  Possibly.  And possibly, they see who I am. . .at this particular time, more clearly than I do.  Maybe, I can't let go of the desire to be accepted by the very ones who don't accept me.

Think of someone that you've known for a long, long time, but, haven't seen in years.  How do you picture them?  Probably very close to the way they were when you last saw them, right?  Is that wrong?  No.  It's just how they are stored in your brain.  Are they that same person?  Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  I believe that there will always be a "piece" of who we "were" in the whole of who we now "are", but in truth that piece can be quite small.  Does that mean that we will always get along with the people that we got along with at one particular time in our life?  Of course not.  We each grow.  Evolve.  Change our perspective on the world.  See things through older, wiser, more mature eyes.

I do wonder though. . . . .what would happen if we were to meet again. . . .at THIS particular time?  Would we be friends?  Would I perceive you to be who you really are now?  Would I see what you want me to see?  Would you even give me the chance to be who I am now or will I spend an eternity having to defend myself and "make up for" some wrong from the past?  Whether real or only perceived by you, to be legitimate.  Can we ever really move forward in time?  Or are we all eternally stuck, in that particular time?  Doomed by fate and happenstance.  Serendipity.

I don't blame people for the choices that they make.  Truly, I don't.  What does bother me is the manner in which people can cast each other aside and never even glance back.  As if, looking over your shoulder shows weakness.  I find it sad that our pride gets in the way of real long lasting relationships, in some cases, because we can't humble ourselves enough to even acknowledge that we might be wrong about someone.   That we don't know who they are now.  That sense that giving someone a second chance just takes too damn much energy.  Well.  Shame.  On.  You.  Shame on all of us, who've walked away, moved on, let go and never looked back.  What does that behavior say about who you are. .  ..at this particular time?   Volumes.

Take a deep breath. . .  .it's just another day in Perfect!!!!!!!!!!!

Loss - A Love Story

Loss.  It's a horrible word, isn't it?  We lose those that we love.  We lose friends.  We lose our keys.  We lose our pets.  We lose our house.  We lose our money.  We lose our minds, perhaps.  Can loss be a "good thing"?  Is it possible that losing everything can bring you to a place of loving yourself more fully?

Loss can and does chisel away at us.  It can break your spirit and leave you feeling empty inside.  It can bring with it so much pressure and pain that you feel as if you're going to explode!  I wonder though. . . . .could it possibly be responsible for all the growth in our lives?  Can I say that I am who I am today BECAUSE of my losses?  Yes, in fact, I can.

The pressure of losing my family has forced me to be a stronger, more independent woman.  Something, I truly didn't think was even possible.  I was already quite self sufficient.  In fact, probably TOO self sufficient.  It's not about that though, it's about being free from the nonsense that came with trying to please my family.  Trying to pretend away a lifetime of sorrow and abuse.  I was forced to play the ostrich and just stick my head into the sand and act as if that was normal behavior.  My independence from that has been one of the most liberating experiences of my life.  So, from the loss, I've gained a new sense of myself.  My true self.

The agony that I felt when I lost my grandfather, taught me that there's an inherent risk to loving someone.  It brought into sharp focus what, exactly happens when death reaches out and grabs our loved ones away from us.  I learned this at seven years old.  I carried that pain with me until I was 25.  I kept it tucked away, safe from view of the outside world, yet; I couldn't even speak my grandfather's name without ripping the wound open and allowing my tears to pour out.  When I was 25, I finally made the trek back to his graveside and said my final goodbye.  I still miss him.  I still hurt for him.  What I learned from the loss was that I love deeply, fully and completely.  Something, I'm grateful to know!

Being someone's "best friend" sets you up for all sorts of things.  Loss, unfortunately, is one of them.  What happens to you when they leave?  When the move away?  When the don't like you anymore?  When you just simply grow apart?  Loss.  You feel it to your core.  Loving deeply doesn't only apply to my family, but, to my friends, too.  I care about them in every way.  I want them to succeed.  I want them to be happy, healthy and live a long, long time.  Sometimes though, those feelings aren't mutual.  Sometimes, people who we let into our lives don't fit, precisely.  Sometimes, you grow apart.  Sometimes, you just can't see eye to eye. Sometimes, they're aren't who you think they are at all.  It would be nice to say that I've never experienced this, but, in fact, I have.  I had someone whom I loved, like she was part of my family and we had to part ways.  I was shattered.  I left a piece of myself behind.  A piece that, in the end, I've learned, I don't actually want or need anymore.  This loss helped me realize what my limits are.  That it's okay to set them and see it through to the end.  I'm now ALLOWED to be dissatisfied with the way I'm being treated and actually DO something about it.  Wow.  Irreplaceable gift!!!  Empowerment from loss.

I'm not saying that I'm loving all the loss in my life, especially right now.. .no, what I'm saying is that I truly think that I've become a healthier person through my losses.  The pressure is creating a diamond, not destroying a chunk of coal.  The pain is building my endurance. I can appreciate myself more now.  I can appreciate my friends and what family I DO have left, more.  I have a greater respect for those around me and, I hope, that they can have a greater respect for me, too.  So, in the end. . .loss has been the one great "love" of my life. Without it, I wouldn't be who I am; where am I; who I'm supposed to be.

Take a deep breath. . . . .It's just another day in Perfect!!!!!

Things that you CAN'T tell. . .just by looking.

Private pain.  By very definition is it, in fact, private.  However, at what point are we hurting ourselves by keeping such things a "secret"?  When is it completely acceptable to speak up for yourself?  To even whine a bit?  We, as a society, seem to root for the "under dog". . . .just so long as said under dog can "take it like a man" and not complain or FEEL like an under dog.  We're a walking contradiction.  We "say" that we want to be there for others, yet, when it really comes down to it. . .how many of us are 100% honest about what's really going on?  Under the surface?  Deep down?  You know; those things that you're truly, deeply AFRAID to say out loud, for fear of judgement or other negative ramifications? More over, how many of us would EXCEPT the total truth from someone whom we've told, "I'm here for you.  That's what friends are for!"  I wonder.  At what point, does the "stuffing" of such private pain, because a detriment, not only to ourselves, but to those we love?  Should I wait until I'm about to explode to let any of it out?  Should I EVER let any of it out?

As Mom's I know that we're expected to only talk wonderfully about our experiences with our children.  We're supposed to "love" it. . .all the time.  Every second.   Well, I don't.  There are times when I want to run away.  I want to drive the fifteen minutes it would take me to get to the airport and hop on a flight.  Any flight.  Just get me the hell outta here!!!  Sometimes, I just hate it.  I feel trapped and sucked dry.  Sometimes, I look back and wonder why the hell my Mom never did half the shit I do for my kids, for me?  Why didn't I deserve to have a mother who loved me?  I actually, honestly, feel jealous of my children.  BECAUSE I'm a good mom.  BECAUSE I love them, unconditionally.   (What kind of head fuck is that??)  Sometimes, of course, I love it.  I love 'giving better than I got'.  Don't get me wrong.  But, see, there again, I feel like I have to ENSURE that you know that I love my children.  I don't want  you to think badly of me or think that they're being abused or neglected or anything horrible like that.  Although. . . .why is it that father's can leave their children every single day and no one blinks an eye?

You see, it's just THIS kind of suppression that's getting to me.  I can't feel this way, because I'm a woman.  A mother.  I can't say or think or feel or want that, because I'm a wife.  I don't get the right to have a religious choice that's different from the masses, because mine is in the minority.  (Resistance is futile.)   I have to respect your need to change me.  Recruit me, even.  Save me.   Sit back and not say a word.  With a smile on my face, no less.  Well, guess what y'all. . ..it's piling up.  All the "little" injustices have just about buried me.  Now, each and every one of you has wonderful intentions.  I know that.   At least, I hope so.

Here's the rub, though.  There are more like you.  All around.  More people judging.  More people "helping".  How come I can't seem to get anyone to help me do the shit that I ACTUALLY want help with?  Like, laundry, for instance.  (Yes, I'm over simplifying. But, I hope that you "get" the idea.)  I mean, people want me to be all Mary Fucking Sunshine about the facts of my life.  Most days, I am.  But, seriously?  Don't I have a right to be a bit pissy about it all?  I mean. . .I'm the quintessential under dog, y'all.

No family.  No faith (in your eyes. . .).  No "proper" education.  Nothing on my resume for the last ten years, but scrubbing toilets and making food.  Abused.  Neglected.  Forgotten.  Disposed of.  And yet, I find the strength to get up every day and take care of my life, my children, my home, my husband, my dog, my cat, my friends.  But, I'm nowhere on that list.   And, YES, quite frankly I do want a fucking brownie button!!!   Perhaps, I'm in desperate need of some sympathy now.  I sure as hell, didn't get any then.   The problem, I've found, with being strong is that you have to just keep on being strong.  Hell, STRONGER even.  More and more and more and more gets dumped on you because, hell, let's face it, you can handle it. . . .right?  What are you complaining about?  I'm not beating you?  I'm not calling you names?  I don't even talk to you most of the time, but still.  When do I have permission to just lose it?  When are we Moms allowed to just let it all out?  I want to scream.  Truly.  Honestly.  Scream.

I've been married to my husband for fourteen years now.  We've been together for nearly 16 years.  We've never had a fight.  No.  Honestly.  NEVER.  Now, I'm sure that you're all like "Wow!  That's awesome!!"  No.  No, it's not.  I feel like you'd have to have some passion to fight.  We have none.  We're very "melba toast".  A whole lot of nothing going on here.  We co-exist.  We live under the same roof and are a thousand miles apart.  We don't believe the same things.  We don't agree on how to raise our daughters most days.  We don't even like the same movies or music, books or art.  Our sense of humor isn't quite matching either.  He rarely thinks I'm funny and I think that I'm hilarious!!!  (See, he has NO sense of humor at'tall. . .)    But, here again. . . .no one wants to talk about this.  You're just supposed to sit back and let your life happen to you.  I feel so suppressed that I can't even see straight.  I would love to get into a some great screaming match with him and then. . ..have some AMAZING MAKE-UP SEX!!!  OMG.  What would THAT be like?  I have no idea.  It's NEVER happened.  Never gonna happen.  We just don't operate that way.

I'm broken inside.  I realize that.  I'm no dummy.  But, I've learned to work around it.  But, the things that you can't tell, just by looking, are that I'm hurt.  I feel abandoned.  I feel alone.  I feel like I AM standing in the middle of a room screaming an not one human being can hear me.  I feel irrelevant.  I feel hollow.  I feel unseen.  I feel suffocated.  I feel like I don't even recognize myself anymore.  I feel afraid. Afraid that after you read this, you'll judge me.  Feel "sorry" for me.  Not want to be a part of my life anymore, because I'm too damaged.  Too dramatic.  Just. . . .too.   But, I beg of you, think really hard about yourself.  Consider all of those things inside of you, that you hide.  Pretend away.  Keep hidden from the outside world out of fear of reprisal.  And perhaps, you too, could find a small place in your heart for an under dog, like me.   I mean. . . .if YOU could (anonymously) "clear the air", say what you really feel, without anyone ever knowing that it came from you.  What would you say?  What can I not tell, about you, just by looking at you?

So, today. . .as you walk your path, be aware that there are probably a million things going on with the people you meet.  Half a million of them are happening under the surface; in some deep, dark corner of their mind.  Realize that they might not even be aware of it themselves.  We aren't only good at "lying" to you, but, we're EXPERTS at lying to ourselves.

Take a deep breath. . . .it's just another day in Perfect!!!!!!

You and Me

You found out that you were pregnant with me and cried.
Not tears of joy, but, anger and sorrow.
I can't seem to grow on you.

I'm born unto you and you felt nothing.
You had me, but never wanted me.
I can't seem to reach you.

The more I grow up, the more you hate me.
I remind you of him, but, you hate him.
I try to be myself.

A young woman now, you push me away.
He wants me all to himself, but it should be you he touches at night.
I try to pretend it all away.

I leave the first chance I get and you don't ask me to stay.
I'm all alone, but, you don't care.
I look back and see nothingness, emptiness, a vacancy.

I find out that I'm pregnant and I cry.
Not out of happiness but fear and trepidation.
If I can't love you, how can she love me?

Pressure Cooker

My wonderful Papaw used to cook using a pressure cooker.  You know the type, right?  I remember being so fascinated and yet terrified of it.  I remember the way it seemed to be alive; shaking, rattling and making noise.  I remember expecting it to explode  --  standing back, peeking around the corner just in case it did.

I'm the pressure cooker now.

Don't get me wrong, I realize, of course, that I've brought this on myself.  Every towel must be hung perfectly every second of every day, in my house.  The floors must always be freshly vacuumed, swept and/or mopped, every second of every day, in my house.  Clothes must be pristine at all time.  Dust has no place in my home.  Movies are alphabetized, spices are, too.  Bills are paid ahead of time, electronically.  No room for "error" or a "oops", there.  People must be listened to, respected and appreciated.  They also are allowed limitless chances to make mistakes and be forgiven.  I'm never allowed to be angry with anyone.  I'm not allowed to "write people off", as people are NOT disposable.  If I speak up for myself, then I'll be perceived as a "bitch" and, let's face it, no one wants THAT!.  I'm not allowed to want anything.  I'm not allowed to aspire to BE anything more than I already am.  I would be a bad person if I felt anything other than blessed to have my home, my husband, my children.  Feeling resentful about anything is an emotion that should be stuffed down, at all costs.  There is NO room for failure.  Meals must be cooked to perfection, each day.  They must be nutritious and delicious.  Everyone in my life, should everything they want, the minute they want it.  If I can't produce, can't keep up, can't give enough, then I've failed.  You get the picture.  Type A personality ---- all the way.   So, I know, in my soul, that the way I feel today, is ALL MY FAULT.  Please do NOT write me and tell me such.  I already KNOW it.   

However. . . . ."knowing it" and being able to "snap myself out it" are two VERY different things.  I often wonder what switch gets "flipped" when I'm able to be thankful for everything around me and why sometimes, that same switch gets "flipped off" and I see it all as a burden.  A large burden at that.  Why can't I just see this wonderful house as a blessing, every single day?  Why can't I appreciate that I've found a man that will tolerate me?  Why can't I look into my beautiful daughters eyes and feel complete?  Whole?  Fulfilled?  Why isn't the "everything" I have --enough?  Why do I feel like I might explode?  The pressure cooker is really singing these days. . . . . .whistling its damn head off, actually.

I think that it quite possibly could be the fact that I have no control in my life.  None.  I don't have a say in when I wake up, when I go to sleep, what I eat for dinner, when I eat dinner,  when I'll ever get a "break", vacations are a "no go" around here.  There's very little to look forward to.  I "get to" do today what I did yesterday.  Which, coincidentally, is the same thing I'll be doing tomorrow.  I can't force people to be kind hearted and honest.  I can't make people be sincere and genuine. I can't seem to be nice enough to soften some people.  I can't make the people who've wronged me, make it right.  I can't force the people who have shut me out, to allow me back in.  I can't change my husband. Hell, I can't even really tell him what's wrong.  I'm too damn scared.  I'm also too afraid to open up to my friends about how I feel.  Will I be seen as weak?  Pathetic?  Depressed?  (I get so tired of EVERY woman being labeled as depressed the SECOND she has some emotion other than happiness.)  I have thoughts that I can't share.  Feelings that I can't express.  Let the pressure build.

I've spent my life caring about other people.  I like to volunteer.  I'm the person to come to if you NEED something.  Anything.  I like being needed.  I like helping.  I love to love.  I love you for even reading this.  Taking time out of your busy life to read words that I've written.  Nice.  I love people who've hurt me and done the "unforgivable".  I've forgiven them.  I've stayed in relationships, both friendly and romantic long after they became unhealthy for me.  I've sacrificed my own sense of self and sanity, in order to stay close to people; only to have them discard me once my purpose was served.  I've always been the dumped, never the dumpee.  I would never discard someone --- EVER.  Boy, that cooker is rocking and rolling now.

I want something to look forward to.  I want more.  More love.  More kindness.  More closure.  More of an explanation of the "why of it".  I want someone to look at me and see me for who I really am.  I want to be able to BE who I really am and still be loved.  I want to speak up for myself and not be seen as bitchy or bossy or selfish.  I want to stop allowing the pressure to build up inside me, to a dangerous level.  I want to be happy and healthy and thankful.   Verily, I want nirvana.  I want people to nice to each other. I want for people to see that our differences don't make us enemies; they simply make us WHO WE ARE.  I want people to work together to build each other up; not spend all their time being manipulative and trying to tear each other down.  I want us to listen to each other and really HEAR what we each have to say.  It's all valuable.  I want to find my own voice.  I want to speak clearly and feel heard.  I want my wants to be important to someone, too.  I want to be able to allow myself to have desires and not feel guilty about it.   I want to be dissatisfied with my life and not be judged for it.  I want to be able to be honest about it and not be talked about behind my back.  I want to be able to tell people the whole truth and not be terrified.  I want the fact that I'm nice, honest, caring and soft hearted to be seen as good things.  Hell, even strengths, not weaknesses.  I want to STOP being seen as an "easy target".  TOOT!!!!!!  I think that the cooker is telling you --- it's done.

I don't know what to do.  I don't know what to say.  I don't know how to release the pressure.  I don't know how to "let go" of the dream that one day, everyone will actually care about everyone else.  I DO know that it's a child's dream that I have.  I also know that children always have the best dreams.  The truest dreams.  The purest dreams.  Perhaps, the most REAL dreams, aspirations, plans.  I can look around and see plenty of "grown ups" who could use a good dose of "dream" into their lives.   So, you can call me childish if you want.  I don't mind.  I suppose, in the end, I've come to realize that the pressure cooker is what makes the meat so tender.  Perhaps, it too, is what makes my heart so tender.  My feelings so raw and exposed.  Isn't it also the pressure that creates the diamond?  The pearl?  Granite?   Perhaps, one day, I too will become stronger from the pressure.  But, today----(heavy sigh)---- today, I just feel like I might blow my lid!!!!

Take a deep breath. . . . .it's just another day in Perfect!!!!!