Going on Strike

As of last night, I am on strike.

As of last night, I have had enough of being expected to take on the responsibility of the second parent, yet be completely over ridden every time an instruction is given, or a rule made. Even if it is not me who made the rule and I am merely enforcing it.

I cannot be the shoulder to cry on, the giver of advice if my advice, though received well when given is ignored when its time to put it into practice.

I cannot be the one to keep mopping up the spilled milk everyone seems to be crying over.

Maybe I should be. Maybe, because its family I should keep on doing what no-one really realises I do.

But for now, or at least until the next drama they can't handle on their own kicks off, I am on strike.

Someone else can have a go!

This week I am seeking solace in the confines of my room, among my own things, taking myself back and remembering the lovely memories that are held within these four walls.

Tomorrow, I will empty and organise my quiet room. The adjoining box room, which before it became home to boxes upon boxes of stuff, was where I went for 'me time'.

Though I love them both, it seems I am outgrowing them. The ever growing desire to break out of them, fly the nest and set up a home of my own is becoming so intense, I find myself  frustrated.

I can't wait to build the home where one day I will raise a family.