the goings on

I started this post already and erased what I wrote. I'm trying to stay cool. I'm temping... it's going okay but I'll be unemployed again soon enough. I hate networking and business card peddling. I hate smiling at strangers and pretending to be interested in anything other than whether or not they know where I can get a damn job. I want some stability. My dad and I were talking about his hopes and dreams and fears for me. He's proud but a little concerned about my career. This is a man who doesn't have 30 years in with a company - there is no retirement windfall, no gold watch waiting for him. He wants me to get into a secure situation before I get to be his age. It's hard to explain to him that it doesn't work like that for my generation. But anyway, I'm not for all the azz-kissing and status symbols, hundred dollar blouses, and seventy hour workweeks. Um, no. I'll find something for me. Somehow. My back hurts. I'm working in a chair for over 10 hours everyday. Sometimes it seizes up. And there's this pain round about my left hip. Doctor's office said take two of these as needed and call in a couple more months if it's still bothering you. Okaaaay. My skin is breaking out. Vision all blurry - I'm actually preferring my glasses to my contact lenses now. I'm hoping this vision thing is temporary. I don't need to take another job where I'm doing this same self-destructive stuff, running my body into the ground. But. F%@$ it, I got bills. I'm saving for a house. Understand, I'm on a mission.

I don't have time to blog everyday. I don't have time to write poems, compile a chapbook, record a cd, go to the poetry venues, join a gym, shop for cheap power suits, send out resumes, rub elbows with the strangers, help my cousin write this letter she wants to write, flat iron my hair, do my laundry, clean my bathroom, cook a decent dinner...

I know I'm blessed. I know that complaining is wack. I don't care tonight, though.

I mean really. If it's like this when I'm childless, renting, and cohabiting, should I even be bucking to give birth, have a mortgage, and be a wife (not in that order)? I've been asking myself this a lot over the last little while. No point in indelibly joining my life to others' lives until I've found some balance in my own.

The good news is I saw Jill Scott in concert. It was an amazing show. The other good news is that I went to the open mic and read a new poem I was inspired to write yesterday. I went to church on Easter. My aunt who was ill is doing better. I'm taking a road trip later this month. My mommy quit smoking. I started volunteering more. I am still in love.

Part of me wants to go back to the time when I was playing hooky, letting my inner artist shine through instead of worrying about my outer warrior/hunter/gatherer. For a delightful couple of years I was able to float with it, you know? Go to the event? Yeah! Roll to the after event? Most def! Road trip? Hayle yeah! New CD? You better believe it. I miss that.

Responsibility is constraining. I feel constrained - that's what I think I've been getting at. And nobody is doing this to me, that's the thing. It's all my choice. I don't have to be (somewhat but not totally) ambitious. But that's my thing. I do enough to keep the thang rolling. I must hustle. It ain't optional. And it doesn't matter if I might be interested in something other than what I studied to do, 'cause the bill collectors, miscellaneous emergencies, future babies, and years of my future jobless old age don't give a #&@% what I would rather be doing with my time, period. Don't matter if the bed feels good when I wake up.

Friend of my honey's told me that I don't sound very happy. She told me I wasn't happy. When she said it, it was like I was hearing a news headline that was about somebody else. It didn't occur to me to ask myself whether or not I was happy. I think it's less about happiness and more about transition. I think my quarter-life crisis (if there is a such thing) is here. I think I've been in it for the last four years or so. And I don't think "crisis" is the right word, either. "Transition" is better. Longest transition I've ever had to go through. I suspect it doesn't end. Whatever.

I had to start telling myself to enjoy the ride back in high school. The thing was, life doesn't start when you meet a goal - it's the stuff that happens along the way to the goal. So I'm trying to enjoy being childless. Even though sometimes I think I'm so ready. And sometimes I think about my 28-year-old eggs. My 28-year-old womb. It's not time for me to be mom yet, and I know that on both an emotional and on a financial level. And my eggs are 28, not 48, but still...

Sometimes I just want to curl up into a little ball and sleep. It's late. I think I'll grab a snack and do just that.