junecleavage

I don't know man, I just don't know. (That felt like something right out of Charlie Brown). I don't know how to just let all the fucking walls come down and just be. I have worked in Corporate America for nearly two decades now. When I found out I was pregnant with my daughter I completely changed my perspective and exterior. I couldn't be a come as you go rock n' roll singer anymore. I couldn't be a freelance writer anymore. Reality is harsh. And it reminded me that none of my supposed career choices were paying me a dime. And, more importantly, suddenly I was responsible for someone else's well being. No matter how many times I had been married or devoted (so to speak) before, I definitely wasn't feeling responsible for anyone but me before that girl started growing inside of me. Because I was young and selfish and fearless and faulted and had the privileged of being so. So, you know, I became this other person for work. Just like in high school. You know the scene. You mask everything about you that makes you feel alive because those are the exact things the "others" (yup - that was a LOST reference) might eat you alive for if they knew who you really were. I have spent so many years in that. That shell of a person. That whatever it is you need to be for the person next to you. I have been managing corporate offices for a gazillion years it seems at this point. While on the East Coast the way that played out was so different than in this beautiful land of Colorado. The cities back there are unrelenting. Working in the offices of those high rises in those cities is a world unto itself. They expect and require you to match a certain "mold." This includes "in season" on the mark attire, accessories, heels, style, attitude and hard ass wit (we won't get into hair just right now). I have spent so many years putting on this "uniform" so as to lose myself in it. Play the part. Act the role. Do the job. But, it's funny out here. No one cares that much about that shit. I have a closet full of Ann Taylor "uniforms" that hang neglected. And yet, you can still turn these office folks on their heels with a different hair color. It's crazy man. How people think they know you based on the "you" you are in that world. I don't know. It was like this growing up with my father. He was this crazy cool super lawyer, whom everyone in the city loved...he gained accolade after accolade in the DA's office, the Supreme Court of PA and at a number of boutique law firms. He threw it all away to become a Professor at Temple University and became a hero there even more so. Everywhere we would go in Philly somebody was interrupting us to shake his hand. Consistently, the students nominated him for "Teacher of the Year" - he was sent to Japan and all over Europe to set up new courses and programs for their International programs, he was the effing Dean fer crissakes. And yet, he felt misunderstood and lost within his own life. And, he ended up leaving my mother , and in essence, our family in the midst of a mid life crisis for some Staten Island over processed blond can't pass the Bar Exam broad when I was in my 30s. And he's still not happy.
I don't know man. What I guess I am trying to say to wrap this tirade up, is, the uniform does not define us. It is not who we are. It is what we do. Because we are good parents who want good things for our children. And we are still allowed to express who we are from time to time. Whether it shakes you up or not.
New Dress