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Dear Diary,

Can I just be honest for a minute? I mean brutally frank? Sometimes I can't wait until the day I can be grown in my own damn house! All the things I can do during the summer when my kids are away: walk around the house naked, drink until I'm staggering, smoke a joint, or have a one night stand with someone anonymous and sexy, come to a screeching halt once they are home. Now, I may not actually do any of those things while they are away, but if I wanted to, I would have to wait until their roving eyes were either closed, or far, far away. I think I am a little resentful, though I don't know why and feel guilty for feeling such rotten, unmotherly feelings. But damn. I can't find balance anywhere and that troubles me. I feel like I am not really myself, but pretending to be, acting as this Leave-It-To-Beaver ass mom that solves all problems, cooks homecooked meals, frowns at any and all indiscretions and stands diligently at my kids bedside while they say their prayers. The problem with that is, that persona directly conflicts with the me that will curse, wants to drink, get high or do something to relieve the pressure and anxiety that this life presents to me on a daily basis. I know if I did those things, my kids wouldn't respect me. Hell, I don't feel like they respect me now. They respect me as in they won't do or say certain things, but they don't respect my hustle or my sacrifices. They don't understand them yet, I know. But I'm a little salty today because my flesh is acting up. I don't want to be celibate anymore. I didn't choose to be celibate in the first place. It just kind of happened. Somewhere in between me getting my groove on and watching my kids grow, I realized I wanted them to have better relationships. Marriages as opposed to booty calls. Real love as opposed to lust. Commitment vs. Involvement.

So here I am. Counting down the days until I can be grown again. Walk naked and feel free to be me.




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