My life, for as long as I can remember, has been one of responsibility. I’ve known how to change diapers since I was six. I don’t remember ever not helping out in the kitchen, and when my mother passed away, I basically took over as far as my sisters were concerned. I moved away from home at 19, but still held the role of the responsible sister. Once they became older teenagers, with their own set of interests, I was so unaccustomed to living in the moment, I seized a little too much of the day, and was pregnant before I knew it. And then I got married. And then I was separated, and pregnant again, and separated, and divorced, and a single parent. It’s hard to know what the world is like, when it’s always on your shoulders.
My life’s mission statement often reads one word: workhorse. Having fun, occasionally comes with feelings of guilt, particularly when things aren’t lined up exactly as they should be. There is all sorts of major crap going on in my life right now, and I fully plan on addressing it. But tonight, to hell with all of that. Tonight I have every intention of dancing until I can barely remember my name. Pressure busts pipes, yo. I’ve got far too much on my plate to break, so I’m gonna vent some of this energy right quick.