one wish

I’ve spent the past few days wishing for many things. And right there, out of the box, is the crux of it. I’ve been wishing.

My most common wish is that I’ll make something out of myself, that someday my work will mean something and that my writing will go somewhere. I keep wishing to accomplish something. I keep wishing for my life to get better. I just keep wishing. It’s not that I don’t really want it, or that I don’t want to put in effort; I’m not being lazy. I simply don’t know what else to do.

Today’s wish was to disappear. To be selfish enough to not care and to just go. I was on my way to work and I wanted to just keep on driving. I didn’t want to do my job or go back home, I just wanted to keep going. I wanted to keep on going until my cab broke or ran out of gas, and then I would start walking and just keep going until I fell down. I wanted to go until the path ended and then some. Just keep walking into the places where no one else was until all I can hear is the chirp of a bird or wind passing through the landscape, or the landscape itself. Just go until all I can feel is the Earth beneath my feet and the sun on my skin. To sit on a side and let the wind blow me to pieces like a pile of sand and simply not be me anymore.

I want to be free of all my “responsibilities” and social chains. I don’t want to go “home,” to that house I paid way too much for to and found out it’s going to take even more to fix. I don’t want to go to that place that just serves as a reminder of every thing that’s gone wrong, of everything I wanted and allowed myself to be talked out of, of everything I didn’t want and allowed myself to be talked into

This is not the life I wished for. This is not the life I wanted. This is not the life I worked for. Haven’t I dealt with enough yet? Haven’t I slogged through enough bullshit, emotional turmoil, financial crap, and general cruddiness? What more must I go through before I can find peace? What more must happen?

I don’t suppose this is healthy, this wishing to be someone else, somewhere else. Is it normal to wish to be free of all ties? To just be able to go about and do whatever the hell you want?

Why can’t I go do whatever for a week at time? Why do I have to be responsible and care about my credit and paying my bills? What the hell good did it do me? Yay, I have two degrees. Who cares? What good has it done me? None. All I’ve got to show for it is years of stress and malnutrition and debt that’s going to follow me for the next ten years.

I was hoping that writing all this down would make me feel better somehow, but I think I’m only embroiling myself further.

I’m afraid that I’ll never amount to anything, that I’ll slip away from the world but still be stuck in it. So isolated but never free. That I’ll become this hermit who’s life flies by without her. I’m half way through it aren’t I? The part of my life that’s supposed to be so fun and care free? Well, I’m still waiting for the fun part ...