Sometimes.

Sometimes life just feels hard. You feel lonely, you feel tired. It's hard to add the "fun" into another day of getting up, going to work, walking the dog, working, coming home, making dinner, walking the dog again, and then going to bed and starting it all over again. I feel like I've read several blogs lately with the same slightly sad lament: how do you make it wonderful? How do you make that life that feels worth living, rather than one that's just biding time until the next thing comes along?

It seems like this sort of sentiment always comes along at the peak or end of a season. Mid-summer, winter's dragging end. There's no real reason, except that maybe it feels like something is coming to an end (again), and you don't have a lot to say for it.

Tonight I made homemade tortillas. Silly how easy it was (Masa flour, water, salt. Mix into a soft dough. Roll into balls. Smoosh with a heavy pan into flat rounds. Cook on the cast iron skillet until they look like tortillas.). Little things like that help. It's something new, something different, it's an escape.

Sometimes I get tired of being responsible. Of going to all the things that we're supposed to. Of showing up on-time ready to get some shit done. I want to just flake out a little. Not turn up where we said we were going to. Go to bed way too late and sleep through my alarm. Have a glass of wine and a stack of cookies for dinner.

Is that what it means to be a grown-up? Our responsibilities are pretty small comparatively. No mortgage, no kids. We could survive on far less than we do. We're tucking a little into the bank every paycheck in hopes that some day we'll have a little more than we do now.

But there's an itch. Maybe it's wanderlust, maybe it's a selfish squirm.

How good would it feel to just load up the car, roll down the windows, and drive off into the mountains? Doesn't matter where. In fact, better that there isn't a plan, I think. Might end up somewhere more interesting.

In my imagination, it would be nice.