Free; still

I am still free.
I have to keep reminding myself that.

All the old pathways in my brain want to keep me in bondage and under the yoke; but it is my prerogative to undermine, overthrow, and vanquish them.

It has been warm, hot, beautiful, and muggy out.  Singing comes easy to me again, at work, at the house, driving.... any time.  I finally found a corner of the store where I can work my heart out and people notice and appreciate my efforts.  I am generally undisturbed, and I can hide very easily from people I dont want to see or talk with. (yay!!) (not that I espouse the idea of running from troubles, but you know when you are having a more vulnerable day, the last thing you need is to get into that conversation that could be the bug-zapper to the rest of your week...)

I was walking in to work thursday (the night were we have a kid's eat free promo that brings 200 some kids and their nightmare parents) and I was singing under my breath.  I was wearing a pretty shirt that I have liked since I was 12 or so (yeah, they still fit) and striding up to another day like I owned the world. I noticed something out of the corner of my eye and realized that The Big White Van They Drive was in the handicapped parking spot (all the people at work call it that).  The one older daughter was in the driver's seat, and she was staring at me hard.  Inside, my mind recoiled at my outfit and called me immodest and I realized how unladylike my walk was and my dark eye-makeup and my hair down and shown-off for the whole world to lust at....
And then I LAUGHED at myself.

I was still free.

So I kept on walking into my job where I support myself, having driven there in a car I bought with my own sweat and that I dont owe a penny on, and had a normal day.  I know she just recently learned to drive, being the only one of the girls with a driver's license.  Her father is obviously quiverfull as the checks say " (dad's name) and Sons" and the women do all the shopping.  I know she is stuck at home caring for her large family, elderly parents, disabled sister, special dietary needs, and probably a farm and a 'ministry' to boot. 
The night before I had gone out with friends from work and drank a couple beers.  We laughed, talked, made plans for a "May the 4th" Star Wars party, I drove one girl home, and slept like a log.

I am still free.

Later that night, as I was in the midst of the chaotic "after-closing-cleaning-time" for my section, I saw the other person who could make me feel inferior: the local ATI mom.  She was at the Deli case, glaring at the Indonesian lady who was cutting her ham for her.  I was singing and walking around with my huge colander on my hip and stocking veggies for the next business day.  I looked at her hard and then turned around sharply (flipping my hair) and walked into the dish pit.

I am still free.

She can go home to her balding, ATI husband and her hard-working, depressed, unmarried daughters who have already made and served and cleaned up dinner after working in the garden all day, and wonder why they try so hard and dont really feel happy inside.
I could give her a couple pointers, but I dont think she would listen to a word I said.

Who cares?  I am FREE.