i am turning into harriet.

this is no small task. i grew up cooking the family meals, and so, i do not like to cook. i grew up cleaning the family home, therefore, i do not like to clean. my mother was always working, my father was off in lala land, and so, i was my own parent.

how could my anger and resentment and guilt at being forced to be an adult while desparately wanting to be a child not shape my lifestyle? as weetabix so eloquently explains, these are "the paving stones we've laid down to create the winding history of our lives. We sink them into the earth, hiding most of the stone from the surface. They are stable, those pavers. You can�t blow them away."

i covet my paving stones. my identity has been formed around them. but, i'm becoming harriet. perhaps this backward blossoming into domesticity and hearth vs wild oat philosophy is one that certain people, such as my mother, have hoped for, but what about me? what about sultry, sassy, siren, raw voiced me who laughs too loudly, monopolizes conversations, challenges masculinity and femininity alike?

am i disappearing?