Choices — Exchange the Cart
I went to Walmart yesterday for a few things. I had a bad day at work, and my trauma was showing, but I kept it to myself. Trauma survivors are good at that — pretending we’re ok when we’re not. I walked into the store in a fog with my mental list of things to get, determined to fight the want to stay home under the covers binging Netflix, like I had done the hour before. I will go. I will fight. I will not let the past win today. I forgot my shopping bags, as NJ is now a bring-your-own-bag state, this added to my discord. Goddamn trauma-induced sloggy brain. I grabbed a shopping cart and started to push. The cart pulled to one side, how annoying, but I continued to push. I grabbed what I needed, fighting the cart’s want to steer me in the opposite direction I wanted to go. Damn cart. I checked out and went home.
Earlier in the day, my stepdaughter requested oatmeal raisin cookies, — her favorite, hence the visit to Walmart instead of stewing in my funk. Baking relaxes me, so I welcomed the opportunity. However, when I got back home, I realized we were out of eggs. I like organic, free-range eggs, on both principle and taste, but there was no way I was driving the extra mile to the grocery store for the eggs, so back to Walmart I went. I grabbed a cart. This one rolled and then hesitated, rolled and hesitated. I struggled against the push and pull of the cart while I picked up the eggs and a few…
