My ‘fro is bent out of shape…
Ok, so I am now officially in the blogisphere. I understand this blog habit helps with getting ideas out into the world, sharing funny stories and antidotes, or spreading important or not so important information to the world. There, however, must be a fine line between getting some thoughts off of ones chest (writing as therapy) and putting all of one’s business “in the streets.” This is because one does not want ones partner to read a blog that is public and seeing a some craziness that just happened to you and realizing that your privacy was violated. The other possibility is to be sued for slander, but I am not worried about that, mostly the former.
So, I planned on going to my first Zumba class. I had been planning this all week, done my research, found the class that was taught by a good friend of mine and everything (I do realize that I am a little late with the exercise trends, but I mean well). I am setting aside the fact that I have a really painful heel situation (also known as plantar fasciitis) that gives me great pain in my right foot, but my hubby has been away for a week and I have not been to the gym that entire time. Well, the time came, I showered, dressed, nursed the baby and was out the door with a whopping 5 minutes to get to the studio…and I could not find my money. I mean anywhere! Where I thought it was, where it should have been or where it was supposed to be, I could not find it! Then I yelled at my hubby (who was taking all the children to the park to meet with friends) for no damn reason and realized it was not him, but it was simply because I am never by myself. Oh, I sneak out to go grocery shopping and when I can be motivated I go to the gym for an hour, but the reality of most of my summer days have been that there is usually someone either attached at the breast, climbing on my lap or just on me in some way (and I am not talking about my husband in this case). I am suffering from no ME time. And no ME time is a direct result in me not TAKING that time. I find everything else to do but what I need, ME time.
Oh I remember the pedicures and manicures I used to get. The random moments where I would skip into TJ Maxx and buy something just because it was on sale. Spend a small fortune (usually a credit card) to get my ‘fro done. Or other frivolous things I used to do in my spare time (which I don’t know about anymore). Oh yes, I would meet my “sisterfriends” for drinks from time to time (multiple times a week). And I have moved to many different states over my many years in graduate school , so these adventures of self happened all over the place. I was broke, but somehow always found a way to do ME. Well, I thought I would always be that selfish only child, but it turned out that I am not your typical only child, but the one who takes care of everyone before herself (and that is really not gangst(h)er). I look up some days and its like 1pm and I haven’t eaten yet, but I have fed folks in my house at least two times (sometimes including snacks). How does a diva fall so quickly. I got married in 2005 (just celebrated my 6th wedding anniversary) and I have been pregnant, nursing or almost pregnant that entire time, hmmmn?
I am not mad at anyone, I am wondering what happened and when. Was it from early on or was it just recent? I got married and let that little gansta girl calm down to a slight poof. (what the hell is a poof, sorry).
So, there it is, I just need to straighten my ‘fro, calm down, and find a way to bring it all together. Brush down the hairs that are standing up on my back and shoulders (a metaphor) sitting up straight, wipe the tears away and just wait until I can get to that Zumba class on a different day, without scrambling and rushing and being all crazed about it. Enjoy my little hours that I steal away and realize that I have to TAKE it if I want it, I cannot expect anyone (especially not my cute little children) to understand. And my husband does not read minds, sooo – if one is to be gangst(h)er for real, one has to pick one’s ‘fro out extra high and comb the curls out and let the hair speak for you. Either that or just let the fully forked out ‘fro scare folks – either way, I’m trying to get that gangst(h)er swag back in that extra ordinary way!