Pennyroyal Tea
There isn’t any fix
that is going to satisfy me. The reason for this is simple; all of the fixes I can
think of are only temporary, save for death. I don’t want to end my journey, I
just want a different road. I have become a slave without knowing it was
happening. I am a slave to the stove, a slave to the fridge. I am a slave to my
bank account, the job, the scrubbing, and the puke-colored poop in my baby’s
diaper. I am a slave to the little speck of play dough on the floor, and I will
continue to be a slave to every inconsistency in my household until the day I
die.
Many
times I have thought of the small, brown glass bottle in my bathroom. Inside,
the fragrant thick liquid is a promise… a promise of ending sorrow, a way to
forget that I will always be a slave, that I will forever chase the dream, and
that the dream doesn’t exist. 
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