::The Reluctant Housewife::

Im writing todays post from the little refugee camp I've built for myself on my boyfriends bed. Using a shitty lap top, while my brand new computer sits at home untouched. Staring at pictures of his family and his clothes and his life, as my living room goes unlived in. Untouched. My life, seemingly frozen in time. Drinking Miller Lite, and eating a Veggie Burger. To watch my weight of course, which is escalating at dangerous levels. Like an obese woman ordering a Big Mac with a Diet Coke. I play these little mind games with myself.

I used to get so much confidence from my work. Negotiating deals. Traveling. Meetings. Even when I had a bad day, and I would bitch, and go home and drink wine and lay on my couch, I still felt proud.
Now I just lay on the couch and drink wine.

The pride I get now comes from cooking a good dinner. Having good sex. Keeping a clean house. Spending hours and hours, doing my hair, make-up, buying new clothes. Just so I can trick myself into believing I'm pretty and happy and unfazed by this whole "lay off" thing. While inside I'm silently screaming for help. Tracking down old co-workers, stalking ex-bosses, emailing every single person I've ever met in my whole life, to try and find a place for me just to work at. Just to wake up at 7 am, wear a cute little outfit, get some coffee, and be stuck in traffic listening to bad morning radio shows, like the American Dream that was promised to me.

I am a house wife. the girl who once spray painted her name on an L train platform at 4am wearing a pair of borrowed Gucci heels one size too big and a tough ass leather jacket, is now, a housewife. Ive watched every single episode of every single reality show on tv. And a new found addiction to Criminal Minds.
And I love it. And I hate it. All that the same time.

Its more than just loosing a job. These past 3 months have been about finding myself. Seperate from being someone's "employee". Without the dependancy of my fat ass bi-weekly paychecks. Without the security that I am the "good person" label you recieve, by simiply working. Making peace with the fact that I'm not 21 anymore. I can't just move to Brooklyn and work at a shitty office being a receptionist and living in a rat infested basement apartment, pretending that's "real life."
My real life is now bills, children, relationships, family. And I need to focus on finding a way to put my own selfish desire to the side, and do what's right for the ones that love me right now.

So, as my meat is in the fridge marinating, and my monster.com emails pile up in my inbox, I sit here with my memories of a life past, and the possibility of a new life ahead.

I've decided to go to school to finally do what I was supposed to do over 10 years ago. Be an English teacher. My dream. Since I was 5 really. That got put aside for a little bit.

But until that day comes. Im still here. A refugee in my own life. Hiding under plaid blankets and golf clubs and xbox 360 cartridges, just trying to find my own place