I can feel that need growing in me again. That climbing, culminating need for change.
Usually I lop off 12-14 inches of hair and pretend that it’s enough. That I’m not practically crawling out of my skin.
I bought a new backpack. It’s coming on Tuesday.
I’m tempted to throw some clothes in the bag and go. To just start walking and see where the world takes me.
It’s not like anyone needs me.
And maybe it’s what I need. To live my life for once and actually experience something real instead of always doing what I’m told.
I’ve been taking care of other people’s kids since I was 15 years old.
I’ve never done anything that I wanted to do. Always just what was needed for someone else’s happiness.
Sometimes I think I’m dying. Folding sheets of paper with the edges torn away a bit at a time, creasing and crumbling with age.
I wonder if they will miss me when I’m gone. Or if they’ll cry for not receiving the dinners I make them.
