la vie boheme

Somewhere between Pink's Dear Mr. President and The Hot Chips, I began crying. I drove down Hwy 20 and sobbed the biggest sobs I think I've ever sobbed in my whole sobful life. Okay...my life isn't that bad; but lately it's been all discombobulated and distorted. It's become this lovely yet missrepresented study session of geometric arrays that are not always connected at a fixed point. A therapy session with no end. A neverending train ride without a food car. A rotating planet with no sunset. In other words, an illogical situation full of emotional turmoil and yet, I have no idea how I got here.

There is a selfish young woman, living alone in an expensive apartment full of stuff with framed credentials posted all over the walls. Spotless floors covered in Pottery Barn nothingness with not one item out of place. An accomplished young woman with no real friends, no close family, a huge salary and acne free skin and expensive linens and high fashion clothing filling her closet. A young woman full of anger and frustration, drinking and sleeping her weekends away. A young woman hardened to the need and the love in the world. A fearful, unhappy young woman.

Awakening every morning, but not. Eating healthfully, yet heartily eaten. Cutting off her soul to the passions that formerly drove it. A hard young woman.

I fear that I will become that young woman.

I want to make a life that is rich with passion. A life that is full of purpose but empty of clutter. A deliberate life; a life of whim and dreams and bubble baths and remembering to floss every day. I want to cry when I'm happy and smile when things aren't going quite right. I want to read Dr. Seuss and feel inspired and know that one day I'll own a Wilbur and he will love me and never resent me. Call my mom on the phone and know that there is trust. Have friends that do not resent me or feel that I'm unstable. Forget to shave my legs because it doesn't matter and wear overalls everyday that are dirty, but be surrounded by people that don't mind. I want to read when I want and write because it makes me happy, not because someone told me I had to. I want spontaneous appreciation and a nice girl who can be honest all the time know that she's not hurting me, because she wouldn't be. I want to wear pink and not feel like the enemy and run without it hurting. I want to stand on cafeteria tables and yell about humanity and sincerity without being ignored or begrudged.

"My vagina. My vagina. Well, it wants everything." --Eve Ensler