Every few months, I get the urge to just take off and go. Run away from home, leave everything behind and live in a fantasy world of my own making where someone else cleans my room and every meal is either from a restaurant or delivered by room service. Where every person I meet is a stranger, everything I see is fresh and new and no one expects anything at all from me except that I pay my tab when I move on. Ahhh... that’s freedom. Or maybe it’s just the best vacation ever.
Of course, my compulsion to run away often corresponds to stress and angst in my very real life. Sometimes, all I need is a couple days away to feel like everything is right with my world. And sometimes, I just want the vacation to last forever. There are most definitely two sides of me-- the side who likes the feeling of “home” and being settled and the side who once aspired to be a photo-journalist traveling the globe. I no longer have the desire to go to all the world’s hot spots, but I still get the urge to take off. Jae attributes it to my independent nature and dysfunctional childhood. He may be right on both counts.
It is an interesting dichotomy, the desire for permanence and a sense of belonging, and the irresistible urge to run away and reinvent myself. History, memories, roots… or a clean slate with infinite possibilities. They both have their appeal.
Several people close to me are in the midst of or are preparing for life-changes. I’m essentially doing the same thing I was doing when I moved to Virginia nearly four years ago, and I suppose that means it may be my turn for some sort of life-change soon. It’s interesting how my career and educational goals have kind of fallen by the wayside, but it doesn’t really bother me. I know I will get where I want to go… in time.
The past few years of my life have been focused on building-- and rebuilding-- relationships. I didn’t really intend it, it just sort of happened. All the relationships I have are stronger than they were four years ago-- and the relationships I’ve developed in the past few years feel solid and long term. I am back in touch with old friends and I have new friends who are like family. I’ve been married for almost fourteen years and Jay is still putting up with my moody, free spirited ways. Believe me, I wouldn’t want to live with me. It must be love.
I spent a good portion of my life keeping people at a distance. It’s safe, but it’s lonely. I’m not doing that anymore-- at least not consciously. Not having the real family bonds most people have and not having children of my own has given me a rare opportunity to give more of myself to other people than I might otherwise have to give. And it feels good, this giving. It feels right.
When I die, I want to have a string of letters after my name and a stack of books with my face on the back cover. I also want to be missed.
I want to quit my job. No, I’m serious. I’m returning to work after a four day weekend of socializing, gardening, being artistic and cleaning my wreck of a house, and except for that last thing, I would happily go on doing what I’ve been doing for the past four days until someone forced me to stop-- and then I’d go kicking and screaming. I mean it, I want to quit my job.
If I thought I had the discipline to go back to writing full-time, I would do it. There was a time when I could make myself write 5 to 6 hours a day (6 or 7 days a week). It was wonderful to have the freedom to be able to spend my days however I wanted, as long as I put in the hours on my writing. Unfortunately, I took for granted just how good I had it and got lazy. Self-discipline is not one of my strongest character traits, though I can be motivated by deadlines and money. But when the deadlines disappear and there are more rejections than checks in the mail, self-discipline shrivels up and The View starts looking like quality television.
It’s not even that I’m so dissatisfied with my current job. It’s part-time, it’s a pleasant enough work environment and I have friends there. It has been a good job, despite the sad little paycheck. I’m just tired of it. There is no challenge anymore, no real motivation to keep going back other than the sad little paycheck and the fact that I can’t really justify quitting.
I want to go back to writing full-time. Eventually, I would miss having a regular job with a regular (sad little) paycheck. I might also miss the social interaction, though I think I have enough friends to fill that void for awhile (or at least until they all get tired of me and I need to make new friends). If I could somehow trade the sad little library paycheck for a regular writing paycheck (which would also be sad and little, of course), I could quit with a clear conscience. Ahh… but there’s the problem. Paychecks from writing require discipline (and talent and luck, but let’s start with discipline), which I seem to be sadly lacking these days.
So, for now, I return to the library… dreaming of a day when I can once again work in my pajamas and write for peanuts.
I mentioned that I got my palm read last weekend when I was in DC, didn’t I? Interesting experience. A woman sitting on the sidewalk in front of her apartment building (which was on a street of residential and commerical buildings) in a plastic patio chair, wearing some bright house dress sort of thing with open-toed shoes and a fake fur coat that made her look like she was being attacked by a bear. A very shiny, synthetic bear, but a bear nonetheless. Clearly, this woman is a success in her field. Oh my.
Anyway, for the low, low price of only five bucks, she read my palm. Granted, Joe paid the five bucks (after getting not only his palm read but also a turn with the tarot cards), but I was skeptical. Still am. Not that I don’t believe there are people who can foretell the future… I do believe. (Hallelujah) I just have my doubts about women sitting on the sidewalk in bear coats. Y’know?
So, what does my future hold? Well… it was a mixed bag. Here is what she told me:
--I will have a long life.
--I will be the head of a big company. (This is so far from anything I’d ever want to do, I can’t imagine it. Once she said this, I pretty much went into skeptical/sarcastic mode.)
--I like to travel. (Well, duh. I’m a tourist, I’m in DC, clearly I enjoy leaving home.)
--I have doubts and indecisions about the future. (Of course! I’m indecisive about whether to buy my bear coat in black or brown fake fur.)
--I will have one marriage. (I pointed out my wedding ring when she said, “I see one marriage” and said, “Of course you do, here it is.” That did not win me points.)
--I will have two children.
--I will receive some good news between April 15th and 20th.
--My life is filled with good luck. (I will not argue with this one.)
--2004 will be a lucky year for me. (Here’s hoping.)
She said I have too many doubts in my mind, which apparently made it hard for her to read my future. Joe had a more positive response, but I didn’t get to hear his card reading because she shooed me out of the room. Guess I was casting too much bad energy on her work space. Oh well.
Lucky in 2004. That would be nice. If I get good news in the next week, I may just have to go back to DC and apologize for being so skeptical. And ask where she bought her bear coat.
Life. Love. Writing. Friendship.
Sex. Books. Movies. Travel. Politics. Feminism. Academia. Insomnia. Rants. Raves. Chocolate. Lots of chocolate. Some names have been changed, some stories have been embellished. Thanks for stopping by and beware of the dog. Read more...
