Lin, a good bloggy friend of mine, always has a joke about running away from home. Since the first time we mentioned this she and I have talked about being hobos. On Saturday night - quite abruptly - I packed up a few things, jumped in my van and drove about 90 minutes to my best friend’s home. Luckily we have an open-door policy for each other, but he immediately knew something was wrong when I showed up at his job to get keys.
I guess the reasons for my leaving are not important, but I’m glad I did. The part I hate? Having to get back in my van and drive home. Not only are there a bunch of domestic chores that need to be handled, but I’m walking back into what I believe caused me to leave: there’s no one there.
Now I must explain that the cause and reasons are two different things… I’m happy for my brief reprieve from the sounds that reverberate in my head, but I must go home to greet my children in the morning when they return from their weekend with dad and get my house in order. In the process, I’m getting my mind and life together – again. I know it’s all so cryptic. It normally happens that way when I hold so much inside for so long.
Although I still haven’t been sleeping well because of stress and mental anguish, I am confident that I can get back on track. I’m still waiting for Lin to give me the signal for that long train-traveling, marshmallow-roasting, kerchief- and daisy duke-wearing, hobo trip, but – in the meantime – you’ll find me here being mom and blogger.