The War Inside

You could see the woman had some inner struggle she was wrestling with upon arising that morning. Had she encountered a bad dream? Her child peeped in her room and even though "Good Morning" was on the woman's lips, anyone could tell this was far from it for her.
Still, she trudged along pouring ceral and then a bath for her little one, and continuing on to make beds, start laundry, and fold cothes. She choked her emotions and carried on.
After helping her child dry, dress and primp--no, not primp. What was done to that little girl was not primping. That would entail curling, and bows, and hairspray. No, this was more of a tidying up of sorts. She brushed the little girl's wet hair and pulled a small portion into a clip to stay out of the child's face. With the little girl ready, the woman walked her to preschool, with a run here and there because they were late, again. A hug goodbye, and then another, and then a wave through the window and the woman was alone.
The woman was surrounded in an hora of pure melancholy. One could see that being alone wasn't a blessing this time. But the wrestle would have to wait. Now it was time to exercise. The woman wasted no time. She ran down the hill to her home. Peeled down the stairs and began the workout program. As the music kicked in her resolve waivered. Her shoulders hunched in defeat. She picked up her feet for the warmup and clearly looked as if an unseen force was slowing her down and holding her back. Then a grimace, followed by a tear making an appearance in her dull, grey eyes. With work she choked down her emotions only to have them resurface continually throughout her workout.
At one point, she began shouting at some invisible creature whom she only could see. She threw her punches and kicks with real force at the unknown being, her face full of rage. And the shouts began again. What or who was she mad at? Or was it the entire world? The tears flowed easily now-she wasn't holding them back but embracing them. Tears through tightly clenched jaws.
"You don't love me!" she  blurted.
"You don't hold me!" she raged on."You do nothing for me! I'm sick of feeling so poor. I'm sick of the undone projects all around me. I'm sick of it all!" She muttered on and it sounded like she was asking forgiveness in the end. Begging to be forgiven for feeling this way; begging it from God, from herself, from everyone. Her tears faded with that and her workout was over and she went in for a shower.
Out of the shower and dressed, she looked at the clock--one more hour of freedom. She picked up a pencil and paper and began to write.