I was going through the mail yesterday when I noticed one envelope had just a name and no return address. That name was Leonardo DiCaprio. The totally rational part of me (about 6%) knew this must be junk mail from some environmental agency, and indeed it was. I also tried to remember that I’m an adult, and am no longer obsessed with Leo. The rest of me didn’t stop to think about it and ripped through the envelope like the actual Mr. Dicaprio was inside it. He was not (but his picture was included on a letter about polar bears), and it was hard not to be disappointed.
So, there we have it. No matter what I do, I’m always going to be twelve years old. I’m always going to fall to pieces at mentions of my junior high mega-crush, I’m always going to run to my parents when I’m in trouble, I’m always going to say “owwwiiiiieeeee!” when I fall down. We’re all just kids playing grown-up. Can’t we play something else for a while?
I think I want to run away. I don’t mean a vacation, although those are nice; I mean an extended get-outta-dodge life-altering move. I’ve been doing this, in this place, for too long now (says the girl who has already moved twice in 2008). I have no pets, no spouse, no kids, very few obligations past June. I’m not making money here, so I might as well not make money some place else. I think it’s time to hit the road. Who’s with me?