When

 I feel like running away.

Pack a bag or two, throw them in the car, light a cigarette and just drive.  Go anywhere, just to not be here.

I'd be missed, by someone...sometime...maybe...possibly...


I've always had a bit of a restless soul.  A friend of mine use to tell me it was because my soul had been this way too many times before.  It couldn't sit still for long.

I use to satisfy the need to wander by long drives late at night.  No traffic, just me, the radio and the road.  Sometimes I would find myself sitting at a local valley overlook, wondering what the fuck am I still doing here in this little bumfuck town?  The sensible side of my soul says something lame like this is home.

Tonight, even the sensible side says maybe it is time to find another place to go.

Go where?  I don't know.  It would have to be a trip similar to On The Road (Jack Kerouac's classic).  It would be town to town, stop by stop.  The primary differences would be I have a car, and the road is much more dangerous.


Truly, there has to be somewhere better than this place that I have called home all of my life.  Has to be...

God, please tell me there is somewhere better than here!!

I know it is a childish, tantrum-like way to react.  I try hard to remain positive and upbeat, but rejection #7 in the job interview department makes me want to cut n run from this place.  There seems to be no options available for me.  I apply.  I interview.  I get the unceremonious "fuck u" letter saying I'm not good enough from previously potential employers turned massive asshole "big money" corporation.

I'm tired of it already, and I've only been looking since June.  I don't know how people who have been unemployed for so much longer do it.  I really don't!  The same jobs appear on the dozen job search programs I use.  How many fuckin' times do I have to apply to get a response??

I wish I were like an owl (my spirit animal) or the red tail hawk and just fly away.  Not worry about anything but locating my next meal and finding shelter when needed.  I'm sick of feeling tied to a place that keeps me feeling less than who I really am.

Why do I have to fit into their mold?  Why do I have to be like they want me to be?  Why can't I just be myself?  How can I feel alive when everything here is geared for those just waiting to die?

I am so tired of it.  I'm tired of this place, tired of still feeling obligated to be the dutiful daughter, the patient sister, the polite old maid.

When do I get to have an actual life?  When do I get to soar into the clouds?  When do I get to live?