Lemons

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.

Life at this moment sucks here comes the pity parade because at my age I should be doing more with my life. In eleven days, I will be the ripe old age of thirty-five! BIG 3-5 my sister said the other day! But I don’t feel as if I should be turning thirty-five. I don’t feel like I want to turn thirty-five either because like most insanely over analytical females, I had a list of shit that needed to be accomplished by this particular birthday. In my mind, I would be in some degree a supervisor or manager at a company I loved to no end or at least a small business owner. My child would be turning five cuz I wanted to have another baby at thirty so he or she would be starting school and being this great I realize that this word ‘great’ is used loosely as this would be MY spawn lol well behaved again my child I use that loosely child who loved learning just as much as mommy. My significant other and I would have either a condo in the city or a cute little house in the burbs with a red door and a moderately huge backyard. Blah blah blah you get the picture don’t you?

And not that any of that cannot still happen, I’m quickly beginning to realize that perhaps it may be time to start making some Southern le-mon-ade pronounced slowly with a long e and o. I’m not saying I have given up or am giving up my dream to have the above mentioned life goals. It’s just at this time I have to be realistic. I have to find a way to be happy AND grateful with everything I currently have in my life. Of course, I must also find a way to do that without settling.

I
Refuse to
Fucking
Settle!

Not in my fucking vocabulary and certainly not something my mom ever instilled in me as a child growing up in the country. first major accomplishment was to move the fuck outta Pledger fucking Podunkville Texas. My life in both my mom’s eyes and mine wasn’t supposed to be this way. It wasn’t supposed to be consumed with le-mon-ade stands that didn’t sell a drop of lemonade because the lemons were too bitter and sour. When I left for Baylor, I knew in my heart Cheycara Elaine was going to be more than the city slicker posing as a country girl from a single parent home. I knew that whatever God given talent I possessed would propel me into greatness or at least local fame.

But I still haven’t achieved greatness or local fame. enter the fucking pity party I feel as if this lemon was put here for a reason. To teach me something that obviously I’m not seeing right away. Either which way, I’m struggling. I’m struggling to find my way back to the person I once knew while dealing with the person I’ve become. It consumes far too much of my time and energy. Prevents me from being seen as the person I have so conceitedly prided myself on. Disrupts every last thought and emotion.

How do I make bitter sour lemons taste like sweet nectar without adding a little something extra? mmmmm Bacardi Límon with Sprite and freshly squeezed lemon juice sounds rather tasty!!! How am I supposed to conquer and not settle if this one aspect of my life invades every conversation I have with anyone? which lemme tell you annoy the living fuck outta me How do I go from wanting to throw the lemon as far as I possibly can partly so I never have to see it again to firmly rolling the lemon on the table to make the fruit juicier and softer to squeeze?

As cliché as this will sound, I cannot try to reinvent the wheel and/or the materials that goes into the modern day wheel. which seems to be shit since they can easily blow on one inner city pothole To be perfectly honest, this lemon will continue to consume my every being if I do not stop, let go and let God. I’ve done it before with other lemons and I can most certainly do so with this one.

Thanks for reading….

The Southern Yankee

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