At seventeen, when I was pregnant I imagined I’d be able to write and go to school, and raise my child and work. I thought I could do all these things at the same time. Wasn’t the case.
As time passed I kept thinking I could find a balance. I kept thinking I could find something that would make all of these things come together. Of course whenever I think about raising children it makes me think of that great line from The House of Yes “You raise cattle, children just happen.” I’ve felt that way a lot since having a child.
Over the years only two things have I managed to do, raise my son, and work. Neither of which I do all that well quite frankly. With all the thinking about time, and change, I’ve begun also to think about my place in the grand scheme (none of which are pleasant thoughts) and my ability to change within my own life. I begin to think I’ve become nothing more than a bloody bourgeois breeder. I begin to think I’m capable of nothing more interesting than spawning and occasionally bringing home a paycheck.
I do everything by half measures. I work hard, but then I take days off willy nilly. I write like a fiend, and then never submit my work. I return to school but had no ambition for a degree. I blog, but then can’t walk down the hall to post. These are perfect symptoms of my half measures disease.
I know I want more for myself, for my futures, for my family, for my own creativity, but when people tell me to just go for it, to just grab for it, I freeze up, I become fearful. Which I’m certain is why I remain a bloody bourgeois breeder, unable to take chances and express myself in any sort of meaningful way.
Or maybe, just maybe I’ve had too much cold medication and not enough sleep. Either way I’m off now to spend time with friends, so no more moping for tonight.