Rush hour

 Lining up to go to work is where I draw the line. 

It's 8:30am and I'm in a videogame as I creep along the busy highway, people weaving in front and behind. This is absurd. Like paperboy but in a car. (my videogame idea is paperboy but it's a mom's life, waking, making food, cleaning the house, shuttling the kids around).

I'll accept being born in the century where cars exist, requiring 50% of the earth be covered in asphalt. I don't like it but I'll deal. 

But I draw the line at lining up to go a job, while my children are cared for by others. The job is required to get the money to keep the roof ours and make the heat turn on  and buy the flour to make the bread. But how many of the other cars are listening to the radio shout at them to buy a Ford Fiesta. It's 8:30am for godssake. They're all idiots, and I sit here feeling like the exception. Does everyone feel like the exception?

I explained to Bernadette yesterday that Moms didn't always work, that 50 years ago they stayed home and cared for the children. This sounded lovely to her. 

I don't do this everyday though. This intense drive through rush hour traffic to an office. I often work in pajamas from bed. I've never done this on a regular basis, I don't think I could hack it. (I also acknowledge the privilege in this paragraph. I have a great opportunity at my current position to choose how I live and work).

Today was an error in judgement. 

My job is different than other peoples in that there is no start or end time. For someone like me, that's a dream. That's all I want in life. The constrictions of a fake number, fills me with anxiety, rushing around life instead of living it. All for some paper. Not a great way of thinking, the paper money thing. It's definitely not helping me get out of debt. "It's not real!" I announce as I buy another container to hold my real pens.

I get to the office and park underground in a spot that's too small, 15 point turn to get in. It all feels so silly, little victories. Take the stairs then the elevator. What is this world? I wish I could read my book instead. Now the countdown is on, 5 hours until I can pick up my babies and go home again.