yes, yes i am alice in wonderland

Except it's more like wanderland...most days I seem to wander from thought to thought...from impulse to impulse...from pursuit to pursuit. Some days I'm very proud of who I am and the woman I've grown into, and other days I feel unnecessary, insignificant...like the squashed giant mosquito in my shower stall right now.

I'm attempting to find my niche in creativity. I used to be a creative writer...not a very good one...but still, I claimed the title and it's written on an official document somewhere in a box around here.

Then I was a hope builder and a seed planter...the common AmeriCorps motto. I worked with struggling students in elementary schools and even though I barely had time to gather my thoughts after work each day, I was doing the tough work...the labor of love...the empowering stuff. I was a martyr for national service.

And now? Pff...a housewife, and an ARMY one at that. I can honestly say I would have never dreamed my life would be intertwined with the military. And yet, here I am, facing my husband's deployment and wondering if I have what it takes. Will I get that calloused smirk like women who sling three or four kids and are on their third deployment?

"Oh honey, come talk to me. I'm used to this stuff. And you'll get used to it too. It's hard, but you get over it."

Or the down-turned eyes and the bunching of the lips from those who are doing their best to empathize.

"Are you moving back home? How are you going to handle that? I could never do what you're doing. I just can't even imagine."

Okay so it's established that I've changed a lot...that I'm nowhere near who I was in my creative college days. I'm a housewife who exercises on TV each day, checks the bank balance every morning, buys corn bread from the dollar store, makes my husband's turkey-sandwich-with-mayo-and-dijon-mustard-potato-chips-granola-bar-and-fruit-of-some-variety lunch everyday around 8pm, and browses KitchenKraft and Etsy to fill the dead hours of 1-3pm.

And here is my predicament: I miss my creative. I miss that quiet time scribbling and scratching words late at night...times when I had to keep pen and paper near my bed in case the inspiration fairy came to visit while I was sleeping. Times when characters, voices, ideas and phrases popped into my head (although, in hindsight, is that something I really want now...?). Times when I gather corporately with people not to worship the Creator above but the creator within each of us (and drinking cheap wine, of course).

I'm not in that place anymore, and I don't want to be, but where is the creative in what I do now, other than getting creative with making various types of chicken dinners?