Baggage Handling

I'm so very, very tired.
I'm not unique.

I'm a full-time working mum.
I'm not unique.



I join the other squillions of commuters driving in city traffic every day, muttering under their breath at the state of the roads, the lights and the lanes.
I'm not unique.

I very occasionally (and most regretfully) swear in front of my kids when driving.
I totally know I am NOT unique. You know it's true; city-drivers y'all...

I have a darling kid with special needs and another who gets a little less attention as a result.
And still, I'm not unique. Not at all.

But even in this delusion of the "diurnal round", as Geoffrey Chaucer called it, I continue... (the poetic reference is for my Dad; the only true poet).
I call it "life". I call it "career progression". I call it "advancement". This is no delusion.

I call it "for the kids".
I call it "for the best outcome".
I call it "what I do".

WHY??? WTF WHY???

And that, my friends, sums it up.

Because I want more.

Because somehow, somewhere in my grand career progression (nuffin' grand about cleaning up lavs, vommies and leftovers...but there is something very, very special about connecting with another human for whom you care and protect, and they in turn trust you to be their everything for a few hours of their existence; a privilege like no other...) I developed a nasty little sense of entitlement.

Uh oh.

Totally un-poetic.

First World Problem.

And I am a little bit ashamed of the Entitled Being I have become. 

Yet.

And yet....are you not a little like I am too?

I want a nice home for my kids.

I want a good car with a reliable engine.

I want to pay my bills on time and not even have to think about them.

I want to have a little holiday every now and then.

I want  to have a pretty pair of shoes. These, here, would do....

And even in writing this, I realise all I'm saying is I WANT.

And even in writing this I know I am working myself like a crazy-lady for a few pretty things.

Or am I working myself like a crazy-lady (!!) 

for something more?

SOMETHING MORE???

I'd like to think it's for the elusive SOMETHING MORE. 

To have a pretty things might mean I'm progressing; getting there! To own a pretty thing might mean I'm succeeding. To surround myself with pretty things might mean I have MADE IT. 

What a sweet, sweet dream.

You and I, we all really only want to be noticed a little, thanked a little and paid a whole damn LOT for our efforts. Sweet, sweet dream.

Dreaming leads me to believe there might be something unknown, waiting out there.

Dreaming is relief and escape from grief; sadness and exhaustion.

Dreaming is planning.

Dreaming is building possibilities.

Dreaming is believing there is something more; knowing there is something more.

Something more than traffic, bills, lunchboxes, uniforms (kids and mine!), homework, traffic, appointments, work, work, traffic, (did I say traffic yet?) work, work; the diurnal round....

Something to validate endless days at work, racing home in the traffic, negotiating the aisles of busy supermarkets on a Friday night after work because you promised your kids you'd do a homemade pizza and Lord knows you got Vegemite and nasty-kid-hating grainy brown-bread and that is all...

...painful "due last Monday" assignments, excruciating all-nighters, back to back meetings with doctors, therapists and experts who see possibilities beyond the diurnal round;

....something to validate why we all leap out of bed on a Monday morning with a big ol' smile on our faces and say,

THIS IS THE DAY. 

(Ok, ok....I have never said that, but maybe one day...maybe, maybe, maybe sweet, sweet dream).

But what if today could be THE DAY.

What if?

It could be.

It really could be.

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Don't miss it.