I remember this one day, when I was 10 years old. It was hot and I was getting ready to go to school after lunch. My dad had made me beef and rice. It was so good, I can still taste it. But it was just another day, really. Still, it remember it vividly because when I was walking down the road I looked back and saw my dad waving at me from the window.
Not because I was a brat and wanted things done my way. I cried because it hurt to leave him. I cried because I knew he didn’t want to say goodbye either. I wanted to stay there and enjoy our lunch a little longer. I hated that I couldn’t be where I wanted to be and I knew that one day, all I would have left from him would be the memories. And they felt like so few.
He was crying too.
Twenty-five years passed and, this morning, when I left the house, my daughters asked me not to go. They cried too. They wanted to be with me; and I wanted to be with them. Play their little games, do their little puzzles. Nothing fancy. We’re not fancy.
I just didn’t wanna leave. Again. Inside, I am still that 10 year old girl.
I promised them mommy would find a different job that would allow her to stay home a bit more. But, don’t get me wrong, this isn’t something I’m doing just because they cried. Kids cry (so, I’ve heard). It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a long time as I can feel these steel structures sucking the life out of me – I might have mentioned this 1 or 120 times here.
I think I am smart enough to organize this life of mine as my single goal at life right now is to sit on my couch, look around, and wish for nothing to be different. I’ve got the major stuff figured out. But the puzzle is not complete yet.
I’m getting there.
I cannot talk about what happened in Florida yesterday. I just can’t handle this fucking world.