I need a vacation

But I can’t afford it. Who wants to hook me up?

I’m thinking New York. Or San Francisco. Or Boston. Or Jamaica. Or Italy. Just somewhere. My cyclical wanderlust has decided to rear it’s head once again. This town is alright, but there are so many places I know I’m not seeing. What if one day I’m 90 years old and the only thing I’ve done is go to college and work in a cube? I want to be like the Titanic chick – fall in love with an inappropriate man, have a wild passionate affair, drown him before he can get really annoying, and then have a fabulous exciting life. At the end of it all I’ll drop my gorgeous necklace into the ocean and die to a Celine Dion song. Or maybe the song will make me die. One or the other.

In the grand scheme of things I have a pretty good life. Good friends, decent job, brains enough to entertain myself without relying on stupid television shows, plans to buy the perfect pair of black leather knee high boots with 3 inch heels, and access to decent coffee. All in all, it could be much worse. However…

I was discussing with a friend last night how I feel smothered when I have too much support in a certain area. For example, when I was a kid I had a rich fantasy life, and I decided to turn one of my mental stories into a written one. I had gotten about halfway through my…

sorry not to finish that sentence right away, but I have to point out that a table full of gay men just plopped down next to me. Why do all of the relatively intelligent good looking men happen to be gay? The only straight guys I see in this coffee shop either look too geeky even for me (as in they showed up with their D&D buddies), or like they are only here to get out of the cold until the place closes and they head back out to their cardboard boxes.


…story and stashed it in a drawer to finish later, when of course my mother found it. Now, I am a pretty private individual now, and I was downright secretive at that age. I was mortified that anyone else might be privy to my personal fantasy life (Disney-esque as it was). My mother happens to be a writer herself, and I think she was so ecstatic that I was following in her footsteps in even the smallest way, that she went a little overboard in the praise department. She told me how much she liked the story, how happy she was that I was writing, how she would love to help, and how she was sure I would be a great writer. I’m sure you can guess what happened next. I didn’t seriously try to write another piece of fiction for 15 years.

I have another blog that she happens to know about, and she told all of her friends how wonderful it was and how smart I was and how proud she was to have such a smart funny daughter. I almost dropped that blog right then… but I got over it. I wasn’t doing it for her, and while knowing she is reading it and promoting it kind of freaks me out, I intend to continue on with it. However, hell will freeze over before she finds out about this one. I love my mom but I don’t want her knowing too many details of my day to day life, she’ll just then feel obligated to ask me about them. I made the mistake this summer of telling her about my one date, and she continued to grill me for details for weeks after, even when I told her point blank that it wasn’t going to work. If I tell her anything she wants to be involved on an intimate level, and I need my own space, my own life, my own existence apart from her. God, reading that makes me wonder why I think I’ll make a good wife, I sound like a fracking hermit.

My brilliant friend suggested that I needed adversity in order to excel, and she is completely correct. In college I purposely left all of my assignments until the last minute, knowing that the stress of rushing to finish on time would produce a better product than if I had started early (or even on time). Apparently that’s the most brilliant example I can think of, but I do know I hate feeling boring and lethargic. I want lots of things to happen, I want excitement and drama, I want the adrenaline of not knowing what is going to happen next… and I want to face it without my mother.

1 Response to “I need a vacation”

  1. 1 Jenn
    February 16, 2007 at 8:56 am

    Woo, I hear ya, sister!

    I think I figured it out–the whole space thing. I mean, moms don’t understand that we have sharp divisions between the various spaces (figurative and real) in our lives. Even if they had the same thing with their moms…

    And I’m still all skeeved out that my mom is on Facebook.

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