My head
is floating in puffy clouds with no intention of coming back down to earth. I day dream and fantasize, those delicious vignettes
probably belong in the trash bin because I know I don’t have the guts to
consume. They eventually go bad as I never acknowledged them out loud.
There is so much about me that I leave out of conversations
and interactions. I’m passionate, creative, romantic and sensitive. If all the
thoughts could escape the confines of where I hid them, it could be problematic
on different levels.
If I could I would run away to New York City and never
look back. I suffer from romantic brain. My dream used to be to marry someone
on the busy streets of Manhattan. Baby breath pinned upon my chocolate locks of
hair, egg shell colored business suit clung to my curvy body. The event would
end as I passionately kissed a tall man with dark hair. After the vowing and
promising we part ways as if having a quick exchange. Then meet up later for a
dance on the observation deck of the Empire State Building. The skyline would
serve as my maid of honor and the island bearing witness. I feel silly in these
child-like plays that go on in my head.
Relationships and careers are messy. For some reason it is
hard to tend to both simultaneously. For so long I didn’t focus on writing. It
was one of those thoughts I keep in a Tupperware container and shoved in the
back of the fridge. It would catch my eye sometimes when I felt restless and
had a craving. Somehow it never grew stale and rotted.
Now I am a writer, a
success that was years in the making. My face is either on the computer or on
the phone. My love life has taken a hit. His attention is glued to Facebook or
television. Arguments over a lack of money, lack of affection, lack of effort
bogs me down. There is no money or time to take a vacation or get coffee
together.
One car, student loans, bills and family woes are not helping us.
Coping methods have included commiserating
with wine, junk food and Adele songs. I keep cramming the unwanted thoughts and
feelings in the trash bin. The bag now full and plastic stretching thin, I’m
scared the rift will expand and all the thoughts will tumble out and be
exposed. It will be ugly and messy. I'm glad we can be messy together.
