The McDuffie Mirror


Top Stories
Subscribe Today!
Quick Hits
    · Home
· Subscribe
· Contact Us
· Archive
· Subscribe
    · News
· Business
· Opinion
· Schools
    · Sports
    · Community
· Obituaries
· Weddings
· Engagements
· Births
· Anniversaries
· Submit Event

· Search Legal Ads


E-mail this story     Printer-friendly version

Longing to escape the chaos of reality

"I feel unsettled," my husband confessed. "Every day is exactly the same."

"Thank your lucky stars for the quiet," I told him, "without surprises, when we can just breathe."

"You like everything so status quo."

"You think I'm dull?"

"Not dull," he backtracked, "content. Satisfied Sally."

I sniffed. He reeked of memory loss. "You've forgotten my mid-life crisis a few weeks ago. I guess you've also forgotten how I wanted to run away from home three years back."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because," I said, disgusted, "I had obligations," (meaning the children). "The very thing driving me to leave made me stay. And, after awhile, things got better."

"Well, do you care if I ski in Utah for a week in January?"

I rolled my eyes at his insensitivity. "If you want to take a trip with the guys, just say so. Who invited you?"

"No one. I need to go. Alone."

An old song played in my head, "All by myself, all by myse-e-elf, All by myseeeellllllf, All by myse-e-e-elf ..."

"Are you listening," he asked, with irritation, seeing me tuned out. "I need to get away, go do something exciting, get out of this day-in-day-out ditch."

"I don't understand why you need to get on a plane, fly to a foreign state and engage in dangerous activities in avalanche country, without so much as a companion."

"Foreign state?"

"Why can't you shake things up a little closer to home? Heck, improvise on the busted porch screen. The half-painted bathroom upstairs calls out daily for your creative talents."

"Produce, produce, produce," he mumbled. Then, in an aside, he murmured, "Maybe I'll get my vasectomy reversed; get my manhood back. That could help."

"Yes, dear, that could have some very creative results, like that producing part you seem so averse to." I smiled at him.

"Don't get your tubes in a tither. I'm only talking smack." He frowned.

Although he still looked disturbed, I begged off for slumber. The night waxed on with no reasonable resolution in sight, and the alarm already tensed for its shrill a.m. cry.

My spouse's face clouded. "You don't want to talk to me anymore? You should support me in my time of need." (Yes, he actually used the words, "in my time of need.")

"Okay," I bartered, "if you buy internet access for my cell phone, send me to writer's camp next summer, convince your parents to take the kids for two weeks in August, agree to go on the history tour of the Northeast in my parents' Kuntry Star Kamper, and bring me back a sweatshirt that says 'Alta,' I'll let you escape for 3 days. But if you don't come home, I'll be really mad."

He had the nerve to ask why. Men!

"Because it was my idea to run away first. And I didn't do it, because I had responsibilities. And it's not fair."

"Oh," he glumly replied. "I thought you might miss me or something."

"And further more," (I was on a roll now), "I don't understand how the chaos that I want to escape bores you. Look around. We live in a tornado of activity with any one moment offering so many opportunities for oddities, disorder and pandemonium, that I can't believe one of us hasn't slipped into a coma from over stimulation."

He yawned and exaggeratedly stretched. "Well, I better get off to bed now. Tomorrow will come early."

All wound up and unsettled, now, I whined, "Why don't you ever want to talk to me?"



Web posted on Thursday, December 07, 2006













© 2011 The McDuffie Mirror. Contact the .
View our .