Lots of labels. Christian. Wife. Mother. Cripple. Artist (hahaha right). Writer (also hahaha). None of them are ME.
I've basically been a housewife for almost 20 years without break. A few of those years I've worked, but out of a home office, for myself, and didn't make a lot of money at it. And failed miserably with my business, of course.
Before that? Waitress. Barmaid. Cocktail waitress. Retail clerk. McDonalds and other fast food. Short order cook. Nothing that MEANT anything.
I wonder what women whose lives have NOT revolved around their home life feel like. What must it feel like to get out of bed every day and know that you're going to do something in the world that might actually matter to somebody? Scrubbing toilets just does not carry job satisfaction, even if you're good at it, which I am not.
Oh boy. I just figured out where all these feelings of inadequacy and BLAH are coming from. *Self thwap*.
It's been at least three days since I remembered my meds.
I need a Personal Disorganizer, a la Samuel Vimes. A naggy little demon in a box that won't shut up until you say OKAY OKAY I'LL TAKE THE DAMN PILLS.
And just how useless am I?
I need to wake Sam up because I can't open my pill box, my hands are too weak. MEH.
Give me a day or two, I'll be back in the saddle.
But my life still won't have much meaning. I hate being crippled, uneducated, and incapable, okay?