On Things We Say

by HelluvaGirl

I was sitting on the terrace last Friday night, having a smoke for the first time after seven years, thinking about something I'd said that day. My colleague and I were having lunch in the office kitchen earlier and talking something until I saw her round eyes raised at me when she asked:
Did you just hear yourself?
I thought about it and replied:
That was pretty awful, wasn't it.
What I said absent-mindedly, constantly thinking about my project with helluvadeadline, was thank God Pia's leaving for the weekend - I'll be able to work. Quite the Lars moment when he spoke about Hitler at Cannes - and how do I get out of this sentence? How did I get here in the first place? Since the times the Witches of Eastwick - pursuing their successful careers - called me Junior? Now they are raising kids, giving birth to more, starting new families and saying no working woman will ever be a fulfilled and succeeding mother and spouse - if she works her arse off, that is. What can I say? I grew up at the age of 31 when I separated with Pia's Father. Till then, I was a child, constantly looking for a father figure, circling my ring of compensation for the shortages of the past. Now I don't want to be saved - that, I do myself. I want to be loved. That's one of the several good things that came out of the great loss. That's what I mean when I say nothing's ever purely right or wrong, good or bad - I might have forever damaged Pia by taking away a life with both parents. But what I gave to her is a mother that is not spoilt, inferior and ever-hiding behind someone's shoulders - I gave her a mother who is grown up, responsible, very tired but mindful and in touch with the reality that involves time-planning and petrol prices (I was teaching her the phrase the other day, there is no such thing as a free lunch - both in Lithuanian and English). So while I'm basically an adult for a mere couple of years, I might still be looking for balance when dividing time, prioritising targets of attention and learning patience when on the edge - often failing, true; but I still think I'm in a better place than the flower pot. Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestmailFacebooktwittergoogle_pluspinterestmail
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