It's not even that anything is particularly wrong. I'm just feeling this amazing pull to RUN. Run away, avoid reality and responsibility. Skip work, pack a bag and just disappear.
I don't want to tell anyone where I'm going, and I don't know where I would go anyway. Just fill up my gas tank and drive until I find someplace with no phone, no television.
No dishes, no sick kids, no dogs to feed, no bills to pay, no laundry, no bill collectors, no X, no ringing telephones.
Someplace warm. Someplace quiet. Someplace I can peel off all my dried up layers and lay raw and exposed to the warm air. Someplace I can just THINK or better yet, STOP THINKING. Stop worrying about money, the kids, the X, BLT, work, my parents, my BFF, my pathetic bank account, my uncolored roots and unmanicured nails.
Someplace I can just cry and not worry that it will upset the kids, or make BLT think there is something wrong. There isn't anything wrong between us.
I won't run... because I'm not a runner. I stuck it out 15 years with a man I didn't love because that's what I do. I stick... I make do. I cope and I tough it out.
And I love my kids. I love my job. I love BLT and my parents and even my semi-retarded dogs. I love the town I live in and the friends whom I'm blessed to have in my life.
But I'll dream, and I wonder, and I'll close my eyes and fight against that need to run. Because as good as running would feel - I know, deep down, that it doesn't hold a candle to making love to BLT late at night. To cooking dinner together and eating as a family outside on the patio with the kids. While it might feel good in the moment, in the long run I would hate myself and I would miss out on so many beautiful moments.
So instead of running away from home I'm running towards it. I know, in time this feeling will pass.