But I do. And it's making me into an irritable shrew. I snap faster than a spring trap at people and things that irritate me. Then I feel like shit for being this waspish wench that I don't recognize somedays. This isn't me. Or not the me that I want to be.
Yet, I can suppress the quick-step a the back of my brain shouting at me to just go. Just get in the car, point it in a direction, and drive without purpose of destination in mind. I'm a gypsy at heart, not meant to be tied down to mortgages and school schedules.
I'm my father's daughter. A willing companion to his Doctor Who eager for adventure wherever it may lead. We'd jump on the next bus, train, trolley, or flying carpet that came our way. The destination was not the point, the journey was. It meant being free and unencumbered by schedules and expectations. Just a desire to explore and see something different. Even if it only took us as far as the shopping center at Wolverhampton.
But I'm a grown up now with two kids and a homebody husband content to watch T.V. and play with his iPad. The one hundred and ten plus temperatures of my desert home further squelching any outside exploration until late Fall. I'd have to abandon children and drive two or more hours to find a temperate climate to play in. I'd willingly take them with me. Except, my oldest is a cyber clone of his father content to explore world in Minecraft before his own. And my youngest likes travel in theory but despises the car. (He was the only baby who never, I repeat never slept in the car but screamed like he had irate red ants in his diaper anytime we took him anywhere.) He also despises walking, waiting, or standing still.
When theses moods come upon me, and I can't channel my angst into my writing, I am known to paint the walls instead of walking them. Except, I've been recently been forbidden to do this as well. Probably because I can't be bothered to prep well and tape off the baseboards like a cross-eyed drunk. Then there's the time I got obsessed with chalkboard paint.
But I can't be the only one to feel this pent-up energy. It's like being in one of those sci-fi movies where the alien or ill-fated scientist accidentally becomes an unwilling container for some building cosmic energy. I can almost see it flickering blue and pulsing around my skin. I can definitely feel it pressing the back of my skull, lifting my shoulders, winding my stomach muscles, and shortening my nerve endings.
Hopefully, I can find an outlet soon. I don't want to fry anyone in my vicinity. I wonder somedays if I can make it to Ikea in Orange County and be back in time for school pick up. My mind makes mental maps of places nearby planning but not yet executing my plan of mental escape.
I love my life. Just sometimes, I need to be true to my nature and just go.
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