Clipped wings?

Lately I haven’t been quite as “feral housewife” as I would like to let on.  Not only have I not been very feral, if I want to be perfectly transparent I’ve been nothing short of a broken, docile house pet. 

—Like a canary in a cage or a flea bitten dog on a chain.

Actually tho, more like a bald eagle in one of those netted zoo enclosures. Why?Because everybody walks by staring at them and commenting on how they are symbols of freedom and independence; but the poor fellow is nothing more than an empty symbol without the status to back it up. A washed up, clipped has-been.

That’s me lately—just living off my reputation as the adventurous, free spirited, feral housewife of lore, but most assuredly not living it.  

I’m like that eagle in the zoo—everybody sees FREEDOM but nobody stops to think that the poor guy’s wings are clipped.

Now, before anybody gets all overly analytical and gets the idea that I’ve been oppressed and suppressed by my toxically masculine, traditional, head of the household husband—let me assure you, it’s nothing of the sort.  If anything, he is my biggest challenger and the one who pushes me to do the things that I would rather shy away from now a days.

The problem kind of crept up on me without me realizing it till I was really in the thick of it.  It definitely started with our move to Tucson and has become a silent disease that has slowly metastasized into a full blown mental cancer for me. But, I recently experienced something that shone a glaring spotlight on how dire my situation has become.

Let me expound:

In hopes of bringing some meaning and a feeling of usefulness back into my mundane Tucson existence, I decided to start a free snake removal service for the not so snake loving folk on base.  After seeing countless panicked posts on various DM fb pages about pest control not being able to come right away to “rehome” these undesirable yard pets, I felt that I could contribute to the community by stepping in in such a way.

So, I posted an add offering my services:

“Jane’s Snake removal” 

…and waited.

Not long.

I found myself going on various runs in and even around base to collect mostly bull snakes and then deposit them into the wild—away from housing and the frightened masses.  It was fun.  I enjoyed being appreciated and having a bigger purpose than meal prepping and being Uber for my teenage son. Not quite my former glory, but respectable nonetheless.

But then the thing happened.  The thing that caused me to realize that I have indeed become a caged animal with severe social anxiety issues.

Anyway, I got a text.    A “help me please there is a snake in my yard and it is going to attack my dog and my baby and we are going to die soon” text.  

I snatched my bucket and snake grabber (in case it was a rattler, right?) and drove the 3 minutes to my “client’s” house.

She met me outside of her home.  

Just her.  

Alone.

Perfect.

She pointed out where the snake was—from a far distance.  It was clearly a harmless bull snake happily snuggled up against the side of her home enjoying a bit of shade.

Easy.

But before I could snatch him up, the lady interrupted my mission and asked if she could go get her son because he wanted to watch.

Fine.  

I’m happy enough to show a kiddo how to catch a snake.  Maybe let him hold it or something and get a picture.

So off she went to fetch her child while I stood next to the snake waiting to make my move.

But it was then that things started to happen fast.  

As the woman went to fetch her son, the next door neighbor appeared.  And his wife.  And the neighbor across the road.  And several other adults and children that seemed to have just dropped down from the branches of the scrubby Arizona trees.  

I started to get tunnel vision.  

I started to feel my chest tighten.  

I could hear blood flow in my ears.

I got the urge to move extra fast and I noticed that my words didn’t like to exit my mouth in an elegant fashion.

I was terrified.  

I did not feel like a boss.  I did not feel like the girl who catches rattle snakes and shoots guns and does cool things in her diesel truck and joined the military and goes on wild hiking/camping adventures all alone.  

I felt like a bald eagle with clipped wings.

I felt like a cornered cougar (yes, I made Cougar joke. I still have a sense of humor, ok?)

So, with an audience that could have packed out the Apollo, I set forth to capture this snake.  

That part went fine.  

I approached, pulled him from under the ledge, grabbed him by the head and lifted him up for all to see.

And this is where I truly fell into the deepest reaches of desperation and despondency.

As everybody oo-ed and ahh-ed I tried to play it cool and attempted to hold the snake out for the children to see.  
The only beauty of this story is that the lovely creature wrapped himself tightly around my forearm as if to give me a hug of understanding—because I’m sure he could feel my visible shaking.

Yes. Very, VERY visible shaking.  

I tried to tactically move around in fast, deliberate motions to distract from the uncontrollable tremors that were being wracked out of my body but it only made things worse.  I pert near hurled that snake into some poor child’s trusting little face simply because I could not think straight.

People

Everywhere

Looking at me

Focusing on me

Judging me

I felt trapped

I felt observed.

I felt panicked.

I felt like a cornered animal.  

I felt…

I felt what?

I felt … feral?

Yes! Feral!

Well I’ll be jiggered!  
Not domesticated, not broken, not clipped, not beaten down, not submissive, not docile — I’m still feral after all!