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Sunday, August 08, 2004

I don't want to sit across the table from you wishing I could run.

I want to run. I don't know what it is I want to run from. Or where it is I want to run to. But I want to run. Something scary is on the horizon and I don't want to face it. Some huge emotional obstacle is hanging before me and I just want to run from it. You know that fight or flight response we have? Mine is screaming flight, screaming it at the top of it's lungs. But I won't. Something holds me here. Prepares me to fight instead.

I want to run away and do foolish things that prove I'm alive. I want to rush off and get that tattoo I keep talking about and go on road trips to nowhere in particular and drink till I puke (which is something I've never actually done) I want to play darts with sluts and bimbos and sleazy men till 6 am just to prove I'm still alive. I don't necessarily know how that proves anything, but that's what I want to do anyway.

I want to run

[ POSTED BY Penelope @ 11:06 PM ] [ ]