November 22, 2021
6pm Behind locked doors I shower. I cannot escape. Tiny knuckles knock. But it’s okay because it’s the bathroom. No one would allow me to go to my bedroom and lock the door. Then I’d be pinned ANGRY or MEAN.“Mom.”
Repeat x 4.
“WHAT?!”
“Can you get me a bowl of cereal?”
I exercised at 1:30pm, ate breakfast/lunch at 2:30pm. Then, a phone was handed to me. Without asking if I were available or not busy or had a break. One hour, gonezo!!
I hate that.
Before that, it was “ I absolutely forbid you to walk out of this house wearing those shoes.”
My pink workout shoes. They still do the job and shoes are expensive But nothing makes me feel like more of a prisoner than the soul destroying, absolute betrayal to my itty bitty scrap of autonomy as my husband — NOT my father — forbids me to do something. Guess who’s wearing these shoes every day for the next two years?
I don’t mean to but I fuck up all the time. I am pretty disappointing. So much rides on me being a certain way… a mom, a lover, a daughter, an employee, an example. A listener, a provider, a chef, maid and chauffeur. So don’t depend on these things from me if that’s the scale of your happiness. I cannot fill that role. I’d rather be all alone, drinking my inevitable disappointment away and walking up refreshed after realizing it’s okay.
I’ma little messy. Always have been. Always will be. That’s the price you pay if you want this. My mind, body and, if I ever had one, soul are deteriorated daily by a nursing baby, needy children, obvious deserving husband, work schmerk, etc. So I abscond. I revolt. I pull back and push away. Because the warning always goes unheeded and you will always expect more than I can give.
It’s better for a man to make the babies and in ten years move on to a younger woman who hasn’t had her body theived by babies, who isn’t fed up with pulling the lion’s share, who can GIVE without expectation.
I’d rather be there.
Fade out.