My name is Prudence and I'm at war with the world. Actually, I'm at war with myself and I take it out on the world. I know who I am, but my style is constantly cramped by others' expectations.
I have one husband and three children. They are dear to me. I'm shocked that I've raised such nice children.
My mother is a religious nut who wants to convert me. My dad... well, he's a fun guy. He'll give up whiskey for lent, and drink vodka instead. It's a difficult dichotomy. Did I spell that right? My sister is great. She's my best friend, but I keep certain things secret even from her because, well, it's wise to do so.
I struggle. I'm a lifelong party girl, and then I did an about-face without properly warning people. Suddenly, I find myself missing that lifestyle. Peer-pressure is nothing compared to the pressure I feel within. I struggle to define muyself.
I like yoga, and I like to drink. I want to get involved in my community, but everyone pisses me off. The PTA is like Lord of the Flies for grown-ups. I hate tattoos but I flaunt my burn scars (I caught on fire.... I'll tell that story another day). I love pot, but I can't smoke it anymore... pot got too good and it turns out I'm prone to paranoia, which isn't fun no matter how stoned you are. I'm monogamous but I'm turned on by the oddest people.
I have a host of impulses that I may not enjoy because I'm being watched. It pisses me off because I know I'm not that different from my neighbors... I'm punished for my honesty.
I'm not punished, but I would be if they ever found out.
I used to have perfect days. As our income increased, and our houses got bigger, I've felt like a bigger liar. Suburbia rubs me the wrong way. I could handle living in the inner-city, or out the sticks... but suburbia is a brainless, hypnotic paradise filled with secrets and tiny trees.
The perfect day was taking my daughter to the park. We'd climb over rocks, cross a creek, and head toward this big flat rock that made a perfect stage. Upon the stage, we'd enact the story of Rumplestiltskin for an imagined audience. A tale of a girl "faking it" to save her life. "Lie now, figure it out later."
Now, she's too old to play such games with me, but my little boys are at that animated age. Their heads are a little warped by Playstation and Pokemon, but they'll play along as long as I'm goldilocks and they get to be vicious bears.
Personally, I don't think there's anything wrong with me... but my mother thinks I'm warped and that's a tough thing to shake off. By the way, she's the one who's changed. Ten years ago, I camped on her land as a vacation, with my husband and daughter (before the boys were born). We played games in the tent, cooked hot dogs, and skinny dipped in the spring-fed pond near her house. In the morning my mom delivered donuts, coffee, juice, and a newspaper in an beat up pick-up truck. She accepted me back then. She saw us all naked in the water and witnessed pure morning bliss.
Then she got saved... my mom that is. Saved from what, I cannot guess. I'm a very bad person now. She's become more manipulative since her rebirth. I've become more controversial as a consequence.
Perhaps my next post will contain some clever wisdom. This one had no happy ending - yet. I want her god to release her. She wants me to pray. Stalemate.