Originally published in September, 2008. Resurrected by request for Sarah D.
Lately, I’ve been lost in my head. Daydreaming. Longing. Wishing I had a time machine or some such device that would let me be young again. It’s not that I want to relive my youth; my glory days, per se. I don’t want to repeat history — I got my ya ya’s out before settling down, had a good long stint of married life before having kids. Theoretically, I did everything right and yet, I find myself wishing for something I’ll never have again — a carefree life; a life where the future is but a vague concept; a life where now is the only thing that matters.
I want to get dressed up to go out at midnight. I want to drink without worrying about a hangover. I want to be reckless. I want to sneak backstage and party with the band. I want to hang out of a car window while screaming my head off. I want to go to late night after parties and make out with someone cute that I’ll never see again. I want to go out to breakfast at 4am and giggle uncontrollably because my friends are tripping too hard to order. I want to befriend strangers and have deep conversations with them over too many drinks and too many cigarettes. I want my posse of crazy girlfriends and all the drama that comes with them. I want to flirt with lanky, long-haired boys that have no money or prospects. I want to take roadtrips without any advance planning and too many people in the car. I want to be seduced. I want to get love letters. I want bootycalls. I want to have an urgent need to go to the record store because I just heard the most amazing song. I want to live on pizza and saltine crackers. I want to be idealistic again. I want to be as skinny as I was when I thought I was fat. I want to come home at dawn with five friends in tow, pile onto my bed and sleep with them. I want to feel the feeling of having a crush. I want to feel that feeling of kissing someone in a way that makes you ache with desire. I want to rage against the machine. I want to LIVE.
It’s not that I hate the life I have. I wouldn’t change it for anything. But at heart, I’m a restless soul. I always want more from life than is possible. And this thing…this daydream that won’t stop, this longing — how do I make it go away?
You can call it whatever you want — a mid-life crisis, a housewife’s lament, whatever.
Just tell me I’m not the only one who’s ever felt this way.