Sometimes I want to run away. Just climb in the car, turn the key, and disappear into the proverbial sunset. To start over – or to not start at all.
But I’m a compulsive list maker. On yellow lined pads. So I can, with a modicum of a smile, deftly place a line (or two) through each item after it is completed.
Lists must be completed, although, very rarely, I begrudgingly copy the last few items to a fresh page. Mostly because all those crooked black lines annoy me.
Someone once said, in jest, I could never commit suicide because something so important would definitely require a list. And, like a computer caught in a logic loop, there would be no way to cross off the last item.
Tangentially speaking, I don’t mind most of my compulsions. They save me from a multitude of bad habits. For instance, I have to pay bills on time. So I have to work. Which means I have to keep my job (don’t get me started on the compulsion that requires me to do a GOOD job, even for a lousy boss).
And because I work, I can’t drown my sorrows. Oh, it’s not that I’ve never tied one on. It was pretty much a high school requirement in my day. But I’m not a very good drinker – always missing that cusp of fun between sobriety and throwing up.
But back to the list for running away.
There are the parakeets who need a home, dry-cleaning to pick up, bill-generating accounts to be closed and a tenant in my house. I’ll need cash, new prescriptions, medical records, and fresh resumes for wherever I end up.
There are some personal items that can’t be left behind, even if I am abandoning the life they represent. Would it all fit in the car? I know, I will make a list with numbers and labels and pack it all up for storage. Which would hardly be called running away.
If I disappeared without a trace, would the police begin an inquiry into my whereabouts with potential disastrous consequences for my friends or family members?
And how would my dear love feel, if I disappeared like that without a word. How it would hurt him – he who has cared for me so well and so long. He who has loved and cherished me so unselfishly.
So no running away for me. No matter how attractive it sometimes sounds