Today I want to run . . .

I want to run away.  Far, far away.  Away from my kids.  Away from my husband.  Away from my mother.

But especially away from my father.

I want to get in my car and start driving, and I don't want to stop until I need gas.  And then I want to drive until I need gas again.

Lather, rinse, repeat . . .

. . . until I'm so far away that I don't know anyone or anything.

And then I want to drive for another hour or two, just for good measure.

I want to live in a miniscule walk-up, or in an itsy-bitsy bungalow . . . in some place where I'm not responsible for property taxes or much maintenance.

I want to not have enough room to collect junk.

I want to worry only about feeding me.

I want a mind-numbing, tedious job that pays just enough for the necessities.

I want to wallow in peace and quiet and solitude.



I'll settle for a 30-minute nap.