escape

“Suddenly I realize That if I stepped out of my body I would break into blossom.”

–James Wright, “A Blessing” …a la O Magazine, also a blessing.

I’m in a funk. As you can imagine, I’m sure, since I’m still fresh off that whole heartbreak thing. New beginnings and all that. Which, you know, sounds good. And ultimately is good. But what happens between the sound (the sob-choked, “I’ll be fine!”) and the ultimately. How in THE WORLD do you get through that time?

I choose to escape. Rather, I am choosing. I am actively choosing to escape my life, until my life, on its own merit, appears to be destination worthy. I can say shit like this because I do think that one day I’ll want to live in my life. I hope–against the dull thud of my current malaise, that this liveable life appears sooner rather than later.

Even as I whisper to you that “I’m off!”, even as I pack my bags and buy mini wine bottles for my train ride, I know that I will come back. I will return. To where? To myself I guess. Did I lose her in my three year long relationship? Maybe a little bit. What about in the gut-wrenching trials and tribulations of the past six months? Did she wave goodbye from my dock back home?

See ya later, Connelly, you’re headed where no soul should ever go.

(Yes I am absolutely talking about adulthood and I refuse to back down from that exaggerated clause of despair.)

I thought I may wax poetic about that blossoming quote up above. But, sometimes, life sucks. And keeps on sucking. And keeps on and on and for god’s sake! You just wish three glasses of wine led to more joy and less weeping. Last night, as I sipped my weepy red I looked at Lee Lee (cat), “Heartbreak hotel. Occupation me and you.” She threw up at my feet.

Quote that Oprah.

I’m headed home on a train tomorrow (with the aforementioned mini wine bottles). And then, on Friday, I’m going to Belize. Yeah, I know. Raise your hand high if you are a privileged white girl who takes extravagant family vacations but can’t feed yourself for more than two days in a row. That’s for another time.

I’m escaping. I’ll probably read a lot of books about other people. I’ll drink a lot of rum and wish that my iPhone wasn’t actually “globally activated” (see paragraph above). Maybe, deep in the rain forest, or just on the surface of the ocean, I’ll see or feel or hear something that sounds like me. I’ll coax her closer, bring her home. If escape is one step closer to self-discovery, then pass the pineapple punch, because I’m all in.

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