The minute hand takes hours to move at work, yet the hours tick away like seconds when I'm home. It's the enigma of the working stiff, I suppose, stuck all day slaving away to pay her bills with barely enough time to read a chapter of her book before crashing at night (I'm currently reading Harry Potter and I don't want to hear any shit about it - I want to reread Order of the Phoenix before the Half Blood Prince comes out. Yes, I'm a dork and yes, I'm proud and unashamed).

I guess this is getting older. This is growing up, this is getting mature. I had been forced into such a substantial parental role at an early age (I basically raised my sister from the time I was twelve) that I really don't even know what it means to relax. I work all day, I compulsively clean, I read to my daughter, I shop for things I could never afford... but sitting and taking time for me (a bath, a shower, a good book, etc.) is a thing I find much harder to do.

I look into the mirror every day, surprised to find the girl staring back at me. I look older. I feel older. I'm starting to feel dead inside and it's starting to show. I've worked myself into such a coma of repetitive tasks that spontaneity is impossible. I need to shake things up. I need to dance for no reason. I need to stop loving like there's an end date and start loving like there's all the time in the world. So what if the world has other plans for me. Fuck the world. I'm in control; it's about time I start showing it.

I need a break, but one is unlikely to come soon. My daughter will be gone for a week at the end of June, I think, but time off is nearly impossible to come by. Time is such an elusive bitch that I'll have to jump on her back and choke her into submission.

I'll let you know how that goes. :)

This entry was posted by Mellie, on Tuesday, June 14, 2005.