I can’t help but reflect upon the year as it stands. My experience extends to solitude and loss of work, hobby, and play.
If I sit back and look upon the previous months, my memories linger upon the following: racing through the rain after one of our last social encounters, long lonely walks avoiding the public, and attempting to be the most adequate house-wife/stepmother one could offer. Will I reflect back upon the many nights inside binge-watching television programs and movies that are old and new? Perhaps on the nights we perfected homemade pizza and pasta sauces will linger in my mind. But in the end, my mind languishes on the the desire to escape the everyday. I want to escape the everyday need for dishes and dinner; the weekly cleansing of the household; the nights lying awake wondering of nightly and future fears.
I dread sleep for the coming morning, and this night leads to no exception. When morning comes, the energy to drag myself out of bed lags beyond measure. I awake to quiet and loneliness, with only the bare threads of possibility lingering beyond my measure of memory. Creativity comes in waves, like the moon controls the ocean tides. It feels forced when searching for purpose in the every day.
Am I just a slave to the household? How can I escape to more exciting times? How can I create this excitement when I’m so obligated to those I love? I feel as though I made my choice. And I must sacrifice my comfort for theirs, until I am self sufficient to venture beyond my house; my home; my loves.
It is not resentment I feel. I am trapped in a home I created for myself. Thus, why should I feel frustration and loneliness? What I do, I do for the good of those with me. It’s not about me anymore. It’s about us.
Elle Christine Travels 