Self Indulgent Whining @ MindSay

More and more, I feel like an intruder in my own life.  Sounds crazy?  It is.

I return home at the end of the day, to a bustling home environment that I am not a part of.  People are preparing and eating meals, watching movies, having conversations...all wonderful things...which either end as soon as I appear, or carry on without me.  Inclusion is rarely an option.  I'm not sure how this situation progressed as far as it has, and I'm not sure I can change it.  The irony is that these are the people who know me best, and love me most.  And they're the ones who hurt me the most.

My role in the household is to be the provider, the organizer, the voice of reason.  I keep it all together, and allow the others to live comfortably and pursue their interests.  It leaves me no room to do much besides take care of business.  Fun is a word I have long since forgotten.  I don't even remember anymore what I like to do.  It hardly matters, since I don't have the time or ability to pursue it. 

I really, really want to live differently.  I know I'm missing so much by being all work and no play.  I want someone else to take on some of the responsibilities, so I can do something for me.  I've had these conversations over and over and over until I'm sick of hearing myself, but it doesn't change.  Maybe it's because I continue to hold everything together, and make life comfortable for others at my own expense.

What would happen if I just flaked one day?  If I didn't come home?  How long would it take until everything fell apart?  Or before anyone noticed that everything was falling apart?  Have they noticed that I'm falling apart?

I wrote something tonight. I don't know whether or not I can call it a poem...I'm not posting it, exactly, for entertainment, but more like statement. Like I've said before, I don't regard myself as a poet, but there are times when something nags at me, something I need to write. But it has to be written in an abstract form. There are times when proper Englich just doesn't suffice to say what I want to say. Like with something I wrote called Morning Embraced...I'm usually not one to complain, but I've been in a whiny mood for as long as I can remember. I don't write things I know nothing about because the end product would be terrible. I figure if I write my feelings that makes it a bit easier...and it does. That way what I write can be called, if anything, honest, but that makes it damn difficult to come up with a title...

(I have edited this blog entry)