Just A Hope Skip and A Way to Wisconsin

I’m setting off again, a week before the journey to Wisconsin. I am so excited to go back there. No one will judge me so much as they do here. No one will be too pleased that darling angie has a bikini, but I have my excuse, and my one piece. Ryan will see normal relations that I do not know very much about, but I will return to a place where time will not run near so fast and a day can include thousands of adventures and happenings and delicious fresh picked out of the garden food!

With such a beautiful adventure in front of me its no wonder I am salivating to start writing, to let my ever obstinate and ever antagonistic voice be heard. To delight as the car breaks down in Nebraska once more and the stories that a plane ride would never include are a must in the 24 hour non stop drive roadtrip. I am cowering as to what to write, I just know that I must, that this grey haze I have had for weeks, not departing when I satisfy what I think I must be craving, will be satisfied and the sun and serotonin from being in the country will rejuvenate my weary bones.

You laugh, weary bones, why I am only 21, I should not be decrepid until I am 60. Well my body has played many mean tricks as to disguising my real age. Most of the tricks I had my fair share in, but the balance and lack thereof I blame on the body I am inhabiting. No matter how I put it, I am out of shape, the failed hike on Saturday more than pointed that out. I may have delightful hiking boots but my calves, thighs, back and arms have suggested that I am ages older than 21. They tell me that I hope in vain to be in shape again, or for the first time ever, but there resistance merely invigorates me. I must tame my own frailty and mold it into being in shape as opposed to “a shape”. I am not obese, I will never be, but I am not the fittest or healthiest I should aspire to be.

I dream of going to a world where the TV stays off and the internet is not used all day. I dream of being not in a office, but, in a library with books; outside soaking up the rays and with it the glorious serotonin that is severely absent from my daily routine. I dream of looking down the road and not seeing a car for miles, for having the closest public venue be a bar/gas station/ miniature golf place ¼ of a mile a way. I dream of looking up at the stars and not needing to drive away from the city to see what I see here after driving 15 miles up the canyon. I fantasize about talking to much and knowing people too well.

It would be so different from my current 40 hour a week expectations as I realize I do not have a full conversation with anyone. There are the occasional more in depth conversations, but nothing profound, nothing that excites the writer inside of me. The writer in me is asleep waiting for a road trip just days away. She’s probably praying for adventure and something more exciting than watching movies the whole way there, while I am too scared to think of packing, not really knowing what ought to come with me and what needn’t.

I’m excited to get to know my family again, to be stuck with Joshy and Jon and really know them more than the birthday dinner and occasional phone call/ work drop in allows. And to meet new people and know them. I dream of a place where time slows down and it would seem the important things are the only relevant issues. A place where I do not always feel forced to say yes and comply. A place where I am more than a worker.

Its apparent you need a vacation when you cannot think straight about anything else.
I obviously am in serious need for one. Why has it taken me so long to get to this place? Well a better question is when could I go on a full blown affordable trip? Certain things have just held me back and stuck sitting in an office day after day seeing my youth pass me by, but at the same time I have been putting myself and my husband through college, and that is worth all the hard work and then some. It seemed that all the summers before the trips happened before August, but Joshy’s overachieving ness has made the trip take place shortly before classes commence.

He is getting/has gotten his associates in finance, or something close to that like accounting. Well since he was in classes this summer, the trip is starting this Friday. I am very excited, and hope for a world that is not tainted by the fine line of nostalgia and reality. I hope to see this world through a middle ground perspective, still maintaining the magic and mystery and joy I ever place in my heart when I reminisce.

I have not been back for years. Whenever my family went back I was stuck working or in school. It seems there has been a long call on my return and with it the serenity that a lush green country can inspire.

Last Semester I read a Grimm’s Fairytale that was rather similar to the adventure lying in my wait. It was about a return to yesterday. A girl had a fairy friend and kept the friend as long as she was a child and did not tell anyone about him. She grows up and cannot be friends with him any longer. When she is older and has a daughter of her own, her daughter becomes friends with this same fairy. The girl tells her husband about the fairy and that night all of the fairies leave the forest.

Its kindof sad and thoughtprovoking, especially where children’s literature is concerned. It expresses and explains the fragility of childhood and the relationship between the adult and the child. The mother remembers, but makes the child grow up too. The same seesaw is used in Peter Pan. It is the mother who tells her children about Peter Pan, and thus they are able to pretend about him. The mother gives them the tools but the world they create is very much their own, and the mother is alien to it.

A lot of classic children’s literature has an interesting separation between the adults and the children. Most Grimm’s Fairytales kill off or separate the child from the parents in order to make it a children’s story. I feel like order and routine have silently wound their way into my life and choking off the creative stream from my throat. I feel starved for creativity to be more unique and different, never desiring the sameness I inflict on others.

Well no one said I was perfect, in fact, I’m not sure if I would want to be, and wouldn’t perfection be in the eye of the beholder? Ah subjection how thou dost slay me and pacify me in the normal society cage. Why hast thou chosen me as thy victim? Why couldst not I exist without the barricades placed upon the world by Plato and Protestantism? Why do I increasingly feel paranoid and wonder if people spy upon me and proclaim me crazed? Why must I feel responsible for the idiocy of my fellow men? Why cannot I exist without? Why do people put me and my values in a box? People were not meant to be caged, they were meant to live, to be free, to know others and enjoy company, to not be alien, to be nice and not mean and not evil and not sue happy. It is a terribly frustrating world, and it feels as though others are so desensitized by it that to care is a crime. Well then make me a criminal.

I had better prefer to be thought as doing something, as opposed to watching everything go down the drain; its not fair for children to be brought up in a world where everything has a negative connotation. There is good, its just hiding afraid from the ACLU as they proclaim everything gray and make someone who is offended by something that inspires goodness a normal every day threat, as they tear down the hope and unity we all desire and leaving in its wake Politically Correctness, never knowing what is ok and what isn’t, rules changing everyday, and fear the cousin to Politically Correctness.

Well I’m done walking on eggshells, I exist therefore I am, I think therefore I feel different, I speculate and theorize and that makes me unnormal. I want to live a life where I do not feel in danger of not angering anyone, by perhaps angering everyone?

I’m tired of seeing hate and fear in differences, I’d rather see love and understanding, isn’t that what cultural appreciation is all about? Isn’t it about learning from each other and both benefiting, as opposed to one person taking it all? That child obviously never learned or needed to share, and perhaps it was never disciplined, or disciplined too much. This is ridiculous, I hope I am not alone in seeing the insane ludicrousness.

I want out, perhaps Canada will do, just a hope skip and a way to Wisconsin.