We The Pizza

Once upon a time (a couple of weeks ago), in a land far, far away (New York City's Little Italy), yours truly had her first sidewalk vendor pizza experience. It was heavenly, to say the least. Gooey, cheesy, perfect crust, just enough sauce...I'm a purist so I ordered the cheese. Good God! So this is what real pizza is supposed to taste like! (I grew up on atrocities such as Pizza Hut and Dominoes.) I think I remember my eyes rolling back into my head as I devoured it like a starving wildebeest. I had grease dripping down my chin and arms in the center of the street and I didn't care about it in the least. I was so focused on getting that slice in my mouth that the world quickly dissolved around me and it was just me and my pie. I was in foodie heaven.
For those of you who are thinking skeptically about the description of my experience, make no mistake, I am not exaggerating. New York pizza is everything they say it is and then some.

Self-Imposed Bondage

Someone please hand me the scissors. I have tied myself up something fierce...and not in a good way. Not only am I running my own household, but I am working 50+ hours a week and am crazy enough to be attempting college on the side, not to mention a social life, the gym, errands... It's enough to thoroughly wilt even the most vibrant of flowers. Queen of my own castle? Please. I barely feel like queen of my own bathroom right now. (which, by the way, could use a thorough scrub down if you know a good house keeper)

I, unfortunately, am painfully learning the cost of living such a life. It takes an extreme toll on my energy levels, my relationships and my overall mood. Debbie Downer? Present and accounted for. I spent last Saturday night on the couch because I had such a screaming migraine that I didn't want to keep my husband up (who had to get up at 6:00 to go to class). When I woke up, my neck was in such a state of discourse that I just wanted to go back to bed. And that's exactly what I did...ignoring a quickly mounting list of things to do.

My fellow queens in training, here is the problem: we are working ourselves to the bone and having a wretched time in the process. I joke that my hair is down to my waist because I don't have the time to get it cut. But is this really that funny? Yes, I am lucky enough to have good hair but that's besides the point. I don't have enough time to take care of myself because I am so busy taking care of everything else. Somehow, we have fallen into a very bleak culture of guilt, that if you have a spare minute in your life, you should be crossing something off of your ever expanding list. We are slave drivers unto ourselves.

So, how do we fix it? What gets dropped? Sorry ladies, I can't answer that question for you. It's your life and you have to answer that question for yourself. I do know that I am skipping the gym today in order to catch up on some much needed rest. We can't all be perfect and not everything has to be done right now. I guess accepting that fact is the first step. Now...about those scissors...