28 01 2008

I am trying to imagine myself in a happy place… no sick children, no ETV blaring, no schoolwork, no cranky, feverish husband.

In my imaginary land, i’m not trapped in the house- I can go for a walk, or dig in the yard.  I could even climb a tree if I wanted to and climb up very high where the leaves are so thick below me that I can’t see the ground and the leaves above me have become transparently gold with the sunlight.  I’ll find a comfortable crotch in the branches where I can sit and rock and rest.  No one can find me.  No one knows where I am.  Only the wind and the tree and me and God…

I suppose it says something bad about me that whenever I imagine being at peace I imagine being alone.  Or maybe it just says that I was raised in a family with four kids, and have lived with roommates or husbands for years, and then had four kids of my own.    The only thing I can fantasize about anymore is being alone.  In a hammock, on a mountain, in a house covered in honeysuckle… no one holding my hand, yelling for milk, asking when dinner is, asking what they have to do next or if they can watch TV or if they can have a cup and brush and paper and something to wipe the brush on so they can paint or wanting to know where the clean clothes are when there aren’t any…

This is another big whine.  Sigh.  I must go check my son’s fractions, fix milk for the baby and take Neal some aspirin and change the wash loads and…

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