Skip to main content

It’s 7-11 & 7:11

Its 7:11 and I don't mean the convenience store that stays open 24 hours, seven days a week. Or do I? Drinking a Captain Morgan pineapple rum blend with a hint of sprite and cranberry, I try to unwind in preparation of tomorrow, and what has happened today. After seven loads of laundry (yes, seven.) that has piled up to the Heavens in 80 degree heat, I ask myself what now? After the maintenance man came to fix the a/c, and folding an enormous stack of clothes, I actually sit down at 2:00 p.m. I honestly sit down. I think this is the first time I sat down for more than five minutes since I woke up around 6:45 this morning.


 

This is me, all day long. 7-11.


 

And I despise it. I despise the constant running, the errands, the to-do lists, the mundane mediocrity of housework and childcare, endless dinner preparations for an ungrateful man of the house, and put "me" last on the list. Oh, yeah. A list. Another list. A list where I am on the bottom, and for some odd reason of hierarchy and the food-chain, my human soul and spirit falls last. This leaves me to question…what about me?


 

I wonder if appreciation lies in clean carpets and freshened toilet bowls. Oh, the woes of a homemaker. I wonder if appreciation lies in perfectly braised chicken that I happened to get the recipe off of the internet to go out of my way to make something different for a change. I wonder if appreciation comes in the waxing of my eyebrows so I do not look like Sasquatch or the fresh perm in my hair to let my hair down. I wonder if appreciation lies in $36.00 indoor/outdoor carpet for the patio to make it more comfortable, or the overlooked hanging plant brightens up the outside for our viewing pleasure. I wonder if appreciation lies in sex after 18 hour filled baby days filled with spit up, poo and crying stages through teething. I wonder if appreciation lies in comforting words that it would be okay, or handwritten letters and poetry.


 

Oh, we could all do this. Sit here and pine and whine about who doesn't care-who doesn't take the time out for appreciation and thanking. But it is the sheer motivation of keeping life ahead of ourselves to not dwell on the past or constantly burn and re-live the past negativity. Excuses, excuses. We have been making excuses for ourselves to place blame on others. We don't tip the waitress because she forgot the cream for the coffee. We talk down to Mc Donald's workers because they make bullshit $6.00 an hour. We take advantage of our wives and husbands because their daily routine is not explanatory enough to show exactly what detailed lists they do. We forget that after washing mounds of clothes, cleaning dusty baseboards on our knees, and sweating over a hot stove in the summer actually means something. It means that we do it out of love, not obligation. We are not slaves to our own demise wanting rule and reign over freedom of spirit and independence. We do this, because our heart is too damn big for our bodies to hold, and our spirit is likened to a Phoenix rising. Burned in ashes and flames, only to be re-lived again.


 

A smile. A tender hand or touch. A reaffirming piece of a person. When I fell in love, I had a piece of him. A big piece. The kind of piece that you want after seeing it baked in the oven, freshly cooling on a rack, ready for a silver fork. I want that piece back. I need that piece back.


 

Times can change. People can change in those times. This is true. But for me, I will still be the appreciation Beverly, full of thank-you's and kind words to those that deserve them. In the end, we do not change others, but change ourselves.


 

I will let others seek the inspiration out of me.


 

As for now, Thank you for your time for reading this. I appreciate You.


 

-b.r.rivera

Type in Search Query Here

Popular posts from this blog

Exploring Poetry Styles: The Bop

Understanding Poetry: Rhyme Scheme

A Runaway Slave Writes A Handwritten Letter To His Wife of Freedom. I Hope She Got It.

Day 29: Are Skinny Women Evil? Mo'Nique Has A Book About That.