Dinner is on the stove. Flame on low. It's spaghetti again, something quick and easy. The laundry is wash but not folded. The homework is done but not checked. In my t-shirt and sweats, I haven't seen my sexy self in a very long, but my creative flow is on cruise control. And right now, all the passion happening on my pages is about to make them spontaneously combust.
I envy men for so many reasons. Men get to focus, channel their energy and make things happen. They dare to be just be who they are. They are the conquerers of their own challenges. Whereas moms have to be everything to everyone. We try to be what everyone needs us to be, before we realize who we are. We tend to put everyone else before self. We give, give, give until it hurts, and that only stops when we realize there is no such thing as a perfect mom, and we just can't give away our last pint of blood.
Or maybe it doesn't stop. I know I am still singing Chaka Khan's "I'm Every Woman" like I can do it all. I know I can't but I refuse to stop trying. I try to be everything, domestic, maternal, passionate, brilliant, and also creative. Maybe that's why when I do focus my attention what I create is beautiful, because all these elements do get channeled. Maybe that channeled energy is what's setting my pages ablaze right now. Maybe I don't need to envy men after all.
It's dinnertime. My characters are talking through me. Everyone in the house is calling my name. And even the cat is meowing at me. But this writing is so hot; I'm smelling smoke. Oops my bad. It's just the spaghetti burning again.