Today, Tom and I realized that we could run away. We are mostly packed, but we could stick the stuff in a storage unit and then, you know, RUN AWAY. Leave the keys in the house with a sweet note to Bank of America, get in the car and head out and go find us an ocean or a volcano, or get on a plane to Paris and never come back.
It's like when will we be able to run away again? Maybe never.
I think about my dad wanting to be able to see his car from the assisted living room where he lived. He couldn't walk to his car or even drive it, but it comforted him to see it, in case some night he wanted to make a getaway if he had the strength.
The problem is that all "get aways" eventually turn into normal, everyday life again, and then it's time to run away again. And again. And again.
But I still like thinking about it.