Am I Normal?

It's happening again.

Recently I had to get a new car (it's a long story) but I don't like it. It rides too smooth and turns with ease. I miss my old Plymouth Duster with no front brakes, a broken speedometer and a leaky roof. I want it back. I feel like it was an extension of myself, something that had been to hell and back and still survived. I named my new car Karen. She is a sleek and shiny '02 Ford Taurus with no dings or dents. She hasn't been through any hardships. She also yells at me to put my seat belt on or when the keys are still in the ignition. I'm a big girl Karen, I don't need your help.

We don't get along. Naggy, bitchy Karen. I miss April and her crooked headlights.

I've also started a new job in the last 2 weeks. The job itself is fantastic, I'm already falling in love with the kids I work with. Adolescent drug addicts tend to get a bad rap, and I'm their confidante as well as their advocate. One teacher I met on the first day said, "Hello! So how do you like working with the druggies?" "Oh I'm sorry," I replied, "I don't know any druggies. Did you mean students?" Burning bridges? I don't care; the kids deserve better.

I see so much of myself in these kids. Their backgrounds, their struggles, their suffering. I see my 14 year old self fighting tooth and nail for some dignity or proof that I am worthy of something. For a chance to be myself. For anything.

But in the last two weeks I've changed. I have a shiny new car, a name-tag, and professional clothes that I wear to an 8-5 job. I'm now a productive member of society. I belong to the group of statistics that labels me a "success" as opposed to my childhood label of "high risk". I've been stamped, categorized, and approved. Domesticated. Like a caged animal.

It's my worst nightmare; people looking down on me with white coats and smiling faces, "There we go, now isn't that easier?" They stare at me like a child. "See how nice we are when you stop fighting? Just follow the rules and life will be easy. Trust us, we know what's best for you." They've fixed me. They hand me a blue ribbon with a smiley face and the words "First Prize: Submissive and Obedient".

I hate it. I yearn for the day when I could run away from home. Hitchhike my way to another city, feel the wind run through my fingers, the rain in my hair and just be alone. Funny how running away when you're an adult is more difficult than when you were a child. Responsibility, rather than authority, ties you down.

In all honesty, I ache for a chance to get out. For a chance to feel like myself again. To feel any sense of adventure and defiance in order to convince myself both characteristics haven't completely deserted me. I feel like a sell-out. Trapped. Condemned to a life of order because the logical side of my brain has convinced the wild side that a life on the road would be less desirable.

But I still want it.

I see the black pavement laid out before me each day on my way to work, and the urge to just keep driving is always there. It doesn' matter where to, I just want to drive. To leave. To feel like I am still in control. To feel like I am still free.

Maybe I'm weird.

The only thing holding me here is my boyfriend. While he doesn't understand, he is still supportive. When I said I was going to Italy, his first question was, "When?" instead of "What? Why?" He knows my need to run is overwhelming, but he doesn't question it. He is also aware of my deep seated fear of being tied down, which is why he has stood by me when others pressure us to get married or buy a house. He is the only thing I have never had the urge to run from.

The view out my window only shows house after house, with neatly trimmed hedges and large cottonwoods strategically planted 50 feet apart. Kids play, dogs bark, old men water their lawns. It is peaceful.

Am I such a horrible person not to want this? Not to yearn for the day when I push a stroller up the sidewalk while comfortably jogging to a familiar mix of songs on my IPod? Or to save my money for a new camera or Rosetta Stone instead of hair treatments and shoes? To excitedly look forward to the day when I am backpacking around a live volcano instead of planning family BBQ's around one of my children's birthdays?

Am I being selfish? I don't feel unappreciative of what I have, but am I acting like it?

         

Spring Cleaning = Play Time

"Why on earth are you wearing ski boots?"
"I'm cleaning."

I believe it would be safe to say that the vast majority of people in this world have another childlike version of themselves that tends to show up in certain situations. Maybe the sight of stamps causes a sudden flashback to the massive sticker collection of your youth. Or maybe that friendly game of checkers with Grandpa brings out the aggressive competitive nature of your varsity days (it doesn't matter if he's 95 and has a fake hip, you're undefeated and damnit it's going to stay that way!).

Besides anything with an underlying competetive nature (of which mine is extremely prevelent), the activity that brings out my inner child the most is, surprisingly, cleaning.

I, like many people, am horrible at cleaning. I want nothing to do with it. I get no joy from seeing a freshly scrubbed kitchen; I only dream of ways to dirty it up again. And cleaning for me takes forever. Why? I'll get to that.

Often, in his desperation, my boyfriend will resort to giving me small, simple tasks to do. He'll agree to clean the entire house if I just focus on one or two things (I know, right? Have I found myself a good man or what?!). So he'll ask me to clean out one room. Just one. That's all. Usually it's the closet. Just a closet, how hard can it be?

Um..................

Well... to put it bluntly? Effin' hard. The closet is packed with hazards, and my lack of focus combined with the new discovery of things I had completely forgotten about makes for some dangerous territory. Here's the breakdown:

1.) Box of old clothes I forgot I had. Commence imaginary fashion show. Try on 80's legwarmers, tutu, and leather vest.

2.) Clothes from even younger days. Remove old t-shirt I'm currently wearing and replace with 3 sizes too small hand-knit sweater from Grandma. Layer with leather vest from previous box. Add gelly shoes.

3.) Seasonal items. Remove gelly shoes and replace with ski boots. Add goggles.

4.) Holiday decorations. Add witch's hat and plug in Christmas lights. Stare at Christmas lights through goggles. Eat a piece of 6 year old Easter candy. Spit out candy.

This is usually when my boyfriend comes to check on me.

"What," he askes, "are you doing?"

"Cleaning."

"While wearing ski boots?"

"I'm a robot."

"You're not cleaning, you're playing. This looks worse than when you started."
"It gets worse before it gets better."
"That's only true with renovations. Are you saying you're renovating the closet?"
"Yes."
"Take off the goggles."
"No."
"You have a sandal hanging from your belt."
"It's my walkie-talkie. Yours is right here."
"You're standing on a pile of books."
"The ground is hot lava."

He takes his "walkie-talkie" and leaves. I continue.

5.) Box of broken electrical appliances I swear I'm going to recycle. Put aside.

6.) Box of old holiday cards and elementary school homework assignments. Sit down and go through 1st grade "What I want to be when I grow up" booklet. Laugh. That's clearly the wrong spelling of 'astronaut'.

7.) Box of games. Practice shuffling cards.

8.) Box of tools. Pretend to build a time machine out of the broken appliances found in box #5. Answer walkie-talkie. Keep it short the line is probably tapped.

9.) Box of old pictures. Go through them. Pay attention they could be a clue...

He returns, holding the other sandal. "My walkie-talkie doesn't work."

"I know. I gave you a faulty one. It was for your own safety."

"Ahh," he smiles. "Thanks for looking out."

Then he usually sits down with me as we reminisce over old pictures and love letters. Progress for the day comes to a halt, but that's okay. The closet can wait. At the end of the day I get to relive all the reasons why I have those boxes of junk, and it makes me incredibly content, appreciative, and grateful. Besides, thanks to my boyfriend I know the rest of the house is positively spotless.