Spontaneous Combustion

I get so tired of being responsible. Of participating in the drab ordinariness of life. Go to work. Pay the bills. Go to the grocery. Get an oil change. Exchange limb for gas. It's just so fucking monotonous.

Then I come here and read the same pathetic cries for attention and melodrama and oh christ just shut the fuck up already.

And that's just MY blog.

Don't you sometimes wish for a chance to be completely and utterly irresponsible? To run away from the kids and the commute and the cubicle and the coffee and the cockshots and the cleaning and the computer and the c...c....c....(gimme another c word please)...

Where would you run?

Me? I just want a pile of freshly fallen leaves somewhere in a place with no buildings, and I want to bury myself under them and breathe crispycold air and that dry crunchy smell of fall and fall asleep with an old sweatshirt and soft jeans and boots with mud in the tread and wake up with dirt in my hair and a gleam in my eye.