Walmart shopping panic attack

The child in me is crying,

The woman in me is shutting down,

While the adult in me is ashamed,

Anxious, puzzled and frustrated.

Will anything from this cart go to waste?

No, absolutely not.

But can I afford it??

My reason says — NO, absolutely not. Shush, the child and the woman...

You will only have the right for your emotions

When I have enough money,

Which I don’t know how to make.

DIY has been the thing, always —

And I hated it,

Because it ain’t fun if not a choice.

Where’s my academic success?

What a disappointment.

A learned person lacking street smarts

Is on the course of extinction.

Thanks a lot for the stimulus check!

My inner adult has a list of SHOULDS:

Car tires, medical emergencies —

And for crying out loud —

Save, save, save!!

The woman and the child agree,

But when the adult isn’t looking

They fill up the cart with all the stuff

I think I can live without... just be tough.

If you haven’t earned it — leave it!

Your working yourself into sickness

Both at past jobs and current household

Doesn’t count.

Your value is only measured in money

That you make.

You make nothing — you’re worth nothing.

Get real. Don’t be a fool.

Natural selection... your child

And your woman

Aren’t fit for life.

Who are they? Mermaids?

What are they doing here,

Flipping their tails pathetically

Against perfectly polished

Cement floors?

Where is their sea? It doesn’t exist,

They’re freaks, they don’t fit in.

What do they do? Storytelling?

Playing artistry like irresponsible kidults?

C’mon, get real...

Only few artists make it,

And the rest are casualties.

You don’t want that!

Go hide that tail of yours,

Get a Walmart job

Since life left you no options,

And your academic past is in the toilet.

You blew it... You couldn’t. You lost.

How will you pay for the real things?

I stand back and observe...

All three are dead scared:

The woman, the child —

And especially the adult.

I feel for all of them

And I give each one a big hug.

I take a critical look

At the items in the cart.

Not anything truly abnormal

If there’s such a thing as normal...

The problem is, mermaids love refinement.

Oh I know everything about clearance

And other things to live cheap...

Yet my inner woman is expensive

And she feels de feminized,

Humiliated and unworthy.

As for the child, she hides away

In her fantasy world.

And the adult in me is embarrassed...

She worked so hard to end up like a bum.

Life isn’t fair but that’s not an excuse.

However I already know

That the more separated those parts of me are,

The weaker I am.

All of them matter.

I ask the child what’s her gift

And she says — Dancing!

But to be in her element and float

She needs comfort.

I asked the woman what her gift is;

She smiled and said — Love!

But to receive it means to be spoiled...

A woman can’t give

Without receiving first... like it or not.

What’s your gift? they ask me.

Beauty, I reply:

Capturing it, creating it,

Fighting for it if needed.

So there we go...

But how shall I make more money?

I’ve never, ever been able to do it, so far.

What’s that bug in me,

A hard-working responsible person?

I don’t have answers... only questions.

How can some people do it

Without sacrificing Dance, Beauty and Love?

It’s time to check out

And I must decide.

All those full shelves around

And cheerful music playing

Are so unlike this inner struggle.

Am I being a sucker?

Shall I do the “responsible thing”

And dump everything out

Except a couple of crude essentials?

Yeah, I should. But why do I feel

So crappy about it?

Or keep it all? Feeling guilty

GUILTY-GUILTY-GUILTY.

I can’t win... humbled, I turn

To the child and the woman,

Admitting my helplessness

And they embrace me.

What if we save this all?

But... that’s mostly essentials

Only a couple of “fun’ items.

We have to eat well...

Canned foods are yucky

And they’ll make us sick.

In utter chronic desperation

I ask my companions, my other parts

About ideas to make money

Because I have none

And never did.

I don’t understand what they’re saying...

I can’t hear them.

And perhaps they will be wrong:

What do they know?

But do I know anything that counts?

My only answer, to everything, is love...

I often forget but now remember.

What if I shopped for someone

I’m in love with, fiercely?

I’d still be calculating

But not regretting.

...Checkout. Done.

April 20, 2021.