As I was listening to this Bob Dylan song a few minutes ago, I found that I was changing the words as I sang along. "Someone to open each and every door", was coming out: "Someone to mop each and every floor...It ain't me babe, no no no it ain't me babe. It ain't me you're looking for, babe."
My childhood vision of myself as a grown-up never included being a "house wife". I'd be too busy riding my horse. Later it became a dream of being an Architect. I even went to the trouble of getting a degree in it in college. I have spent lots of time trying to understand why I was always letting life's circumstances grind my dreams into the dirt, some of which I could have grabbed hold of and changed, but didn't.
I have a bitter little place in my heart, that I hate. Some say learn forgiveness, including forgiving myself. I fear, often, that that dark little cancer will kill me again, as it does, over and over. I become too weak to stop the tears and anger. That sweet girl who's fondest dream was to be on a horse, running free...I miss her.
I don't know who I am any more, but I know it ain't me, babe.
What a whiney baby! It's called life, stupid! But I really like how you tied it up at the end.
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