I was remembering the other day how this time of year felt when I was 17. I remember a space and an openness and afreedom I'm not sure exists in the city. I know I romanticize my childhood because I distinctly remember hating my life and my little Kansas town. But now, looking back, I see how lucky I was to have access to unpaved roads--to have been able, on a daily basis, to experience landscapes still untainted. When I think about growing up there, I become unreasonably nostalgic and even more aware of the claustrophobia and structure of my current life and landscape.
I have this fantasy. It's just me and I'm barefoot and it's one of those perfect days weather wise. The kind that happen maybe twice a year. In the fantasy I'm just walking. I'm not worried about anything. There isn't any noise, there isn't any stress. There's just me and my bare feet, and the soft grass beneath. Exciting fantasy, but at this point in my life I can't think of anything better. Because I am tired of the following:
1) crowded sidewalks 2) making small talk 3) honking horns 4) bus exhaust 5) people who have no idea that they are blocking a doorway and then become irritated when you say "excuse me." 6) Automatic bathrooms--6.5)the kind that flush for you (sometimes) 6.75) and spit water and paper towels out at you (sometimes). 7-10) The callous that is forming on my thumb from too much time on my computer. 11) Ringtones and 12-187) voicemail. 187-Infinity) Constant noise.
I'm just tired.
I was watching this episode of "No Reservations" and he was in French Polynesia. And he went to this place where they just fished for what they wanted to eat or picked it from the trees. And they weaved plants together to make plates. And they didn't have electricity, just torches and fire pits and guitars and their own voices to entertain themselves. I wondered why I live my life the way I do when I really want to be a feral person. Removed from society, wild, no responsibility to anything or anyone. Just living on my tiny piece of land, fishing in the ocean. It just seems like every problem I encounter these days is so man-made, so avoidable, so unimportant. I feel like we've made life so unbelievably exhausting and I don't really know what for.
Who knows. One of these days I might just disappear without any warning. Set up shop on an island somewhere. If I can find one that is resort-less, which may at this point be impossible. If that doesn't work out, perhaps I will just wander around living in tree houses. Or with wolves.
Disclaimer: This entry was written after the series finale of LOST.
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