Weekend Warrior

It's 75 degrees. The breeze is warm and steady. I smell fresh cut grass and the mossy hint of petunias. My cinnamon coffee is resting on the arm of my fake Adirondack chair and I'm writing in my current notebook, which was purchased well over a year ago.

In my defense, this notebook is more than three quarters full, but it's still no excuse for my non-existent writing habits.

The excuse never changes though. "Too busy" seems to be the standing lament in my world. And if I recited all the things I do on a weekly basis, it would be a valid excuse. But it still doesn't stop the nagging feeling that I wish I could do something different with my life.

I love my job. I do. I love my customers and my co-workers. If I have to work, this is the perfect job. Really, how many people can say that? It's just that I'm two days into a four day vacation and I'm realizing all the things I can't do because of work.

I can't take Drew to the zoo or sit under the tree and share a picnic lunch. I can't get up and take a long walk to prepare myself for the day. I can't sit in my fake Adirondack and write my novel. I can't be the mom, wife, daughter and friend that I really want to be.

Do all of those things on the weekend you say. I know, but I don't.

I've been plagued with migraines again lately and I'm bone tired more days than I'm not. Each week my goal is to do laundry, get groceries and clean the house after work so I have more time on my cherished weekends. It never happens.

And so it continues week after week, month upon month until a year has surprisingly slipped by.

It's really not important that I write. I've sort of resigned myself to the idea that I most likely will never have a published work. I sure miss the dream though. I miss the practice and the exercise.

It's not just that I can't find the physical time. It's the mental energy that I lack. My mind just doesn't want to work "after hours" and thus I've taken to watching meaningless crap on television to basically fill the silence.

One thing I've learned in this lapsed year though is to just ride each swell of longing or discontent until the next "feel good" wave inevitably comes. I guess really, that's the most important thing any of us can learn in this world where we can't have everything we want.

Moments

I can almost hear the vaccum-like whoosh of time rushing through my body and life.

I'm not complaining and it doesn't depress me anymore. I think I've finally made it to a point where I just accept it for what it is and am grateful that I have time to rush by me.

Sure work still stresses me out, but I know that it's a temporary stress. One that melts away when I am surrounded by the comforts of home.

These moments that fly by so fast, these moments that I used to spend more time worrying about missing than actually enjoying, are being stamped in my memory and I can take them with me where ever I go.

Here I Am

When I was a kid, I wanted a life partner I could trust and someone whose love I was secure in....
Here I am.

When I was a kid, I wanted a nice house. Classy but liveable. Big but not ridiculous....
Here I am.

When I was a kid, I wanted children who enjoyed being at home, but who weren't afraid to be away from me....
Here I am.

When I was a kid, I wanted to have a successful career and be confident in my job....

Here I am.

When I was a kid, I never thought I would encounter ugliness and betrayal in my immediate circle....
Here I am.

When I was a kid, I wanted to have a story to tell....
Here I am.

When I was a kid, I couldn't wait to be confident in who I was becoming....

Here I am.

When I was a kid, I didn't think emotional scars would be permanent....
Here I am.

When I was a kid, I never thought my dreams would change....
Here I am.

I'm still waiting on a lot of things, but...
Here I am.

Here I am.

The Bloat

Webster defines it as expanding or swelling with or as with air or water. History knows it as the Burgeoning Layer Of Abdominal Tearing.

Men won't get this. Sure they get the occasional indigestion, remedied by an inner-fisted baby punch to the sternum area, but it's not The Bloat. Only other women understand the pain and discomfort that's associated with bowling ball weight between the naval and the pelvic bone. Hurts to sit, hurts to stand. And holding the stomach muscles tight in that ever slimming, shoulders back pose - not happening. It hurts too much.

And it's not even a week that I should be bloated.

Dajuanna Phillips

I really dislike selling, but it comes naturally. It's easy and I'm good at it - at least that's what I've been told. I'm a pro at reading a situation and slanting the outcome to work in my favor. I should have been a politician, but I'd probably dislike that even more than sales.

I think I acquired this skill in my junior high years out of pure necessity. There was this girl, Dajuanna Phillips. She was white and meaner than a damn snake. A bully if there ever was one. I don't know how many girls and guys she beat the crap out of. And I was on her list on more than one occasion. For what, I never knew. I just knew that I had to do whatever I needed to keep my ass safe.

She would have been a good kid really, but probably didn't have parental support or guidance in any area of her life. Her kid sister Angelique was destined to be just like her, creating a wake of fear throughout her high school years.

Despite being scared to death of Dajuanna, I kind of liked her. Well, respected her anyway. She didn't take any crap - even from the teachers. The first few times I was on her "ass-kicking" list, I avoided her and her groupies at all costs. If that meant walking outside the building to bypass "her" hallway, I'd freeze. If it meant not eating lunch that day so I wouldn't run into her in the cafeteria, I'd starve.

About the fourth round of possible beatings, I decided to approach the situation from a different angle. We were freshmen by this time and I knew that if I didn't eventually face her, my whole high school career would be jeopardized. I had no friends that were as strong as her and nobody that wasn't afraid of her.

I will never forget the moment. I can't tell you if it was winter or spring. I can't tell you the class I had before or after, but I remember where we were and what was said. It was right after gym class and we were standing by the East doors waiting for the dismissal bell. Dajuanna dared a couple of her buddies to leave early (punishable by after school detention). No one bit. Except me.

"I'll do it." I dared.

She looked at me with such disbelief that it fueled my fire. "If you dare to do it with me." I challenged.

Without another word, she grabbed my arm and we walked out of the gym. I could feel her looking at me so I glanced over and said, "that was cool," to which she responded, "yeah".

"Why?" she asked simply.

"Because I had to talk to you in private." I said.

Sarcastically, "So?"

I then began to tell her the whitest of white lies. I told her that there was this older girl (don't even remember her name) that wanted to beat me up and that I needed someone like herself on my side. The reality was that I only sensed that this other girl didn't like me, she never actually threatened me.

It didn't matter. From that day on Dajuanna was my protector, creating the illusion that I was to be feared as much as her. In fact, no one ever bothered me again in school. But I didn't use that to my advantage. I was nice to everyone.

And the selling skills were honed.

Surprise

Possibly thinking about maybe hopefully, potentially posting again.