Entirely Impractical Desires

“What if I had a thing on the side? Made you cry?
Would the rules change up, or would they still apply?
If I played you like a toy?
Sometimes I wish I could act like a boy.”

In a departure from my normal musical preferences, Ciara has been resonating with me lately. I think it’s the righteously angry tone. One of my roommates listens to her incessantly, and I’m beginning to mind less and less. Regardless, that’s the mood I’m in, and thus ends another too-short-and-yet-too-long weekend. How many more days until I graduate again? Oh yeah, too many.

I spent time with family and friends, and had a generally good time, but I feel like something is missing from my life. I’m not sure if it’s just me feeling lonely (lame) or if it’s something bigger, but for some reason lately nothing seems to shake that nagging empty feeling. Then, suddenly, a big ole’ wave of “I now know exactly what I want, and it’s entirely impractical” just hit me.

I want to run naked through the woods.

Or, perhaps, I want less of a “run” and more of a “frolic.” I’m sick of the winter and the cold and the hard, frozen ground. I’m tired of being forced indoors for classes and inspections and formal events. I’m bored out of my mind of the monotony and childishness and misunderstanding that permeates the culture here. I want it to be summer right now, and I want the sun to shine bright and bold at noon, followed by fleeting storms in the afternoon and the hot, sweet smell of evenings. I want to be without responsibility and without authority, for myself or for anyone else, and I want to be free to run outside along pathways no one else can find. I want to run with the Wolves and fly with the Ravens. I want to wander, to dance, to lose myself in the foliage. I want to braid wild violets into the twists of my perpetually tangled hair. I want to embrace my inner Amazon and disappear into the hunt. I want to be alone, completely and truly alone, and I want to be happy with that.

As I am fully aware, this is all an entirely impractical stream of wants. I am responsible, not only for myself, but for about 40 others. I do have a certain amount of authority, and I can’t escape that, nor can I avoid answering to the authority of those who are responsible in part for me. I can’t make the winter suddenly disappear, nor drench myself in the sun that almost never shines over this particular stretch of New York. I can’t go wandering in a dark wood without consequences, and I can never quite be happy completely alone, no matter how hard I try…and that’s precisely the crux of my deeper problem.

I want so badly to wear the Amazonian mantel, and yet I am unworthy of it. I don’t deserve to run with Wolves nor fly with Ravens, because I can’t even run or fly solo for long without feeling sorry for myself. It’s pathetic. I hate it. I hate that drama, despite my best efforts to eliminate it, always seems to stir back up in my life. I hate that I have such good friends and yet I can’t talk with most of them about what bothers me.

Sometimes I wish I could act like a boy. I wish I could be an asshole and not care about hurting anyone. I wish I could just take what I want and feel no guilt, no shame.

I wish I could stick to my guns and not talk to Stargazer, no matter how much it hurts.

I wish I could find my Orion.