A Random Rant... About my day.

    I wake up, check to see if my baby is still asleep-- she usually isn't... She crawls over me and tugs at my shirt like a puppy waking her master. I ruffle her hair and play with her for a minute or so, before she screams (as if urging me to bring her out of the stuffy room and into the even stuffier living room.) I call for our maids to carry her outside, and I go back to sleep.
    My body seems to tire more often than not, but I have the inability to sleep on time. It might be the result of the C-section or just the constant strain in my brain from thinking too much. And although I use all my time thinking about things, it seems like I'm not thinking enough. I have so many things to think about yet I'm dissatisfied.
    So I dream a little before I wake up again, realizing it's a little after ten. By then Ry (that's my baby's name for those of you that don't know) will have been done taking a bath. I take her into my arms and cradle her until she wiggles free (as usual) and tugs at my shirt. Feeding time again. And I use the time to think... again.
    Just what exactly do I think about? I already know the things I should do and the things that I've already done, I don't have school for the moment so I don't need to fill my head with academic stuff. But I still use every waking moment thinking. Thinking too much... Thinking that my thoughts are still lesser than what my brain can actually come up with.
    By then, when I've finished contemplating on whatever I choose to alleviate my boredom for the moment, Ry looks at me curiously and touches my lip, then pinches it (so painfully, I might add), causing me to forget whatever it was that I was thinking about in the past minute or so. Or she might have noticed that I was out of it and pinched me to wake? Could be. But she's only 9 months old.
     I know that I think too much to block out the things that I don't wanna think about. Like "what do people REALLY think of me now that they've found out I'm a mom?" It's not like I care what they think, it's just that I don't like being labeled as "dirty". I've seen too many "dirty" girls to want to be put into the same category as them. But what exactly is the classification or qualification of "dirtiness"?
    I look at the clock and it reads 12:00. I know I should eat but I don't feel hungry, like eating is just a habit out of need-- eating used to be so much more than that. But nevertheless, even if I don't feel hungry, I get up and take Ry with me out of the room. I put her in her play pen and I look for something to eat (if there is any left... there usually isn't.).
    I check if the computer has been recently used (touch the power supply) and decide whether or not I should turn on the computer. When I sit down in front of the computer, Ry calls for my attention. I feel a little frustrated because I want time for myself too (like every other human being in existence).
    And so I get depressed and start thinking again. Trying to drown out the whines of my beloved infant.
    Don't get me wrong, I love her so much and I'm willing to give my life for her. but it's been over 9 months that I've constantly cared for her, when I, myself, still need to recover from the CS operation last year (my stitches still throb whenever I carry something heavy like Ry). And I've never openly compained until now.
    But my complaint shall only be about my need to recover. I know better than to complain when I have been blessed despite everything that has happened. (The gods do not look so kindly on teenage pregnancies.) I'm grateful to my mom for never leaving my side, and for everyone else who has been (in one way or another) somehow alleviating the aggravation and pressure that has been building up inside of me.
   
    I can't complain so I just shut up.
    I can't shut up so I just distract myself.
    I can't distract myself when my problem is in plain sight.
    I need some room to breathe, to think, to feel, to recover. It seems like all my life I have been shifting from one prison to another.


    And so I continue to live each day, thinking, thinking, thinking... just to stop myself from feeling.