California Dreamin'

I dreamt last night that we were moving to LA, and I was busy settling my mother-in-law into her new little granny unit.  It was unsettling because part of me was wondering why I wasn't feeling any anxiety about being so far away from what I call "home" and why I was so eager and excited to start exploring the hills.  I did end up getting lost in LA and asked a museum worker to help me get back to "Granny's Attic", a store that was around the corner from my mother-in-law's...The woman knew I wasn't from around and asked me where I came from.  I looked off towards the sun setting over the ocean and saw the silhouette of redwood-clad hills and began to cry, saying I miss my river.  And I really did miss my river...

On occasion I'll have a dream that we've moved or will be moving and I always feel that painful tug at my heartstrings.  But lately I've really been thinking about us uprooting and changing scene.  Mainly so we could have a better opportunity economically, however the cons at this point certainly outweigh the pros.  Our children are vested in their school, and they're at that age where uprooting them could prove more traumatic than beneficial.  We've learned from the past that a change of scene doesn't help the situation, but rather aggravates it.  In fact, any sort of "change" seems to aggravate our little family unit.

Since the time I started going to school at age 5, I've been asked what I want to do with my life.  I believe this is one of the cruelest and most useless question to ask of a child.  To figure out at such a young age what they want to subject themselves to, supposedly, for the rest of their life, and as a vehicle for economic status no less, is unrealistic and puts far too much pressure on the child.  I wanted to be a musician, or an artist, or a dancer...something that "doesn't pay very well" and was told that I should choose something else that would give me the economic standing that one needs in this society.  So for the rest of my life, I'm doubting everything I choose (because I am still that artistic, creative and flighty little girl that I've always been) is contrasted by the expectation that I need to subdue myself in a Nine-to-Five job in order to support my family.  This is the typical way of doing things.

Yesterday, I was poking around the College website, looking at classes for the Fall Semester, when I became overcome with frustration and anxiety.  The fact is, I've been going to school for 4 years, and only need 2 more classes to get my AA, I've fallen short of the expectation I placed on myself.  SO naturally, I don't want to complete what I've finished.  I've explored many different career options and each one has fallen through.  After beating myself up about the Fall Semester, I decided to go on CraigsList to search for employment opportunities.  I found a position that I more than qualify for, but because it's located too far away, I've immediately blocked myself from the prospect of attaining that job.

I'm torn between what's important for my family and what's important for me to feel any self-worth.  Since I grew up with middle-class parents, this life of poverty and being on assistance has inflated my guilt.  Do I sacrifice time with my family for a job that will provide for them?  Is that even possible in this 21st Century economy?  Or will I be spinning in circles?  Working for the sake of working, but with no reward?  This is the reality of my dream to be a good mother, wife and citizen of the world.

Thursday_Schmurzday

1. I'm attempting to read two books at once: Little Alters Everywhere and 50 Shades of Grey.  Been really looking forward to the latter one.
2. Stupid cat is sitting on my desk.  I've resorted to accept that any flat surface in my house, whether it be the kitchen counter or a t-shirt drawer left open, is fair game to my incredibly lazy, hairy cats.  Their fur is a whole other level of evil....painter's tape companies love my cats.
3. My left nostril is trying to divorce my face by sending a vortex of cold, throbbing pain up through to my brain and out my mouth, giving my horrendous cotton mouth.  "EwGod!  What's that smell?  Someone left a can of beans out!"
4. I've listed my textbooks on Amazon for the first time ever!  Hawaiian vacation, here I come!
5. $15 flat-soled sandals from PayLess are the worst thing ever to happen to my feet, especially when I had to walk 3 miles today.
6. My stupid bitch-dog has a puffy taco, and that entitles her to eat the garbage in the bathroom....right?
7. Lucky number.  Time to go to bed.

Beyond help

It's not very often that I will pick up a book and read it non-stop, and this can be for so many reasons.  I never understood why my mother liked reading so much, I mean, didn't she know that TV was so much better?  I bought "The Help" by Kathryn Stockett from the local bookstore when I had a bit of money left over from our tax return.  I had seen the trailer for the movie, but decided that I'd go a different route and read the book instead.
I laid in bed all day with the flu and decided to finish the last 200 pages and I've just now finished the last page of the book.  There's so many emotions....many of them too heavy for my heart to bear.  I think about these women and even though they're fictitious, it doesn't mean they've never existed.  The guts it takes to speak up and change the way society thinks about thinks, these invisible lines, inspires me to look deeper into myself.
I've always considered myself fairly even-ended when it comes to discrimination.  I grew up in a town that had a strong homosexual presence, so because of that, I thought myself fairly well rounded.  Truth it, I'm far from it, and in fact my issues with my fellow humans beings tend to be the very issues I have with myself.
If one were to take a collection of all the friends I've ever had and profile them based on their ethnicity, my pie chart would be mainly Causacian.  But was that by choice?  Or is it a result of geographic circumstance?  I remember as a young girl, playing with my Barbies, and I recall thinking "what if my hair was brown, like my best friend Elizabeth's?"  I felt very sorry for Elizabeth because all the pretty Barbies only had blonde hair...and peach skin, at that.  Oh, and they were straight, too, and nasty bitches to each other.  It's these things that I reflect on now as I'm maturing and aging into an adult that I realize how skewed my reality really is.