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I realize how incredibly fortunate I am in life. Not always, actually not even often, but sometimes I can see how lucky I am. Financially, my family is relatively stable. Weapos;re not rich or anything but my siblings and I havenapos;t starved a day in our lives. I can afford to go out and not worry too much about having enough money left for cab fare. More often than not I can afford to give some of that money away to people that donapos;t have it. It always leaves me sad I canapos;t give more, always leaves me feeling guilty because maybe I can. Itapos;s not really a moral dilemma, I have a cynic buried deep, deep inside me that knows everyone is entitled to satisfying their own needs first. That little dude can be really convincing.

"You have to find yourself a rich husband," my momma says, laughing. She doesnapos;t really mean it the way it sounds. Weapos;re cooking and I tell her about elaborate meals I want to make. Not everyday food, definitely. Especially for a woman thatapos;s been through some really rough times and has never allowed her kids to notice it by making sure thereapos;s a healthy meal on the table every day.

"I donapos;t need that much money in life. Just enough to make sure I always have an avocado in my kitchen." Itapos;s not a humble statement, but I canapos;t help but stare at it and wonder why the hell is that asking for too much. And the answer is simple and itapos;s an unfair answer. It makes me feel mad that I canapos;t fix it, sad that it matters so much.
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