My Wild Side

So the house is a no go. I could kick myself, and Kevin, square in the ass. It’s been a week since I told our realtor no and I already regret it. We bowed out gracefully from our dream house because it might be too much work. It might be a money pit. We might loose our asses. Sometimes, I really...REALLY..hate my responsible side.

I’ve always seen myself as this wild child. No rules, free spirited, do what I want..when I want..how I want. I’m starting to see that the craziest thing I’ve ever done in my life lately is jump on buying a car I wasn’t sure I could afford. To be honest, I really wanted it..but I think it was more of a, I cant get a car..watch me..and watch me rub it in your face when the car I drive up is newer than any one elses. Now..I just hate that I pay $400 dollars for something that I have to stick in over $50 a week to use. Ugh.

I don’t know why I have this crazy perception of a crazy me, when in reality, I’m actually quite boring. Maybe that’s why when I get drunk, I become a ‘scrapper’ – brothers words. I don’t think of what’s going to happen in the morning. I don’t think of who’s feelings (or face) I’m going to hurt. Who is going to say what in the morning. But in the morning? Oh in the morning..why? What was I thinking? Is this how a 24 year old acts? Uh...YEAH!

I was smart. Actually, and it gags me to say this, I was responsible. I got a job after high school. I didn’t get knocked up. I was (semi) financially responsible. Got married. Waiting to get a house and be financially stable before having kids. Where in the hell did my 20’s go? In five short years I’ll be 30, and then I REALLY won’t have an excuse. So who is this prude alter ego that is taking over my life.

I come home. I clean. I make supper. Feed the dogs. Pay the bills. Go to bed by ten so I can wake up for work in the morning. On the weekends, I don’t drive too fast because I might get into an accident. I don’t drink too much because someone has to take care of everyone else that’s drunk. I don’t get too loud because we might bother the neighbors.

I can remember when I was younger, a hobby – and don’t you dare judge us – was to literally break into houses for sale to look around. Now we weren’t out breaking windows or kicking down doors. We’d just find one that was unlocked, or climb into a window. No thought of the repercussions if someone caught us.

I used to pick up my best friend, go down to the lake, and smoke a bowl. Then giggle when the park ranger drove past, wondering what he would do if we opened a door and let the smoke roll out.

I broke into a boy and girl scouts building with some friends, found a thing of gas, dumped it out on the front lawn, dropped a lit match and run off like crazy. Then, giggled like hell as we ran thru backyards, jumping over fences, as Cal Counties finest shone their spot like around trying to find us, driving up and down Lake Shore Drive. I woke up the next morning with grease, gas, blood, mud, and a tear in a pair of borrowed blue jeans.

And guess what? IT WAS FUN.

When did I become such a pansy? When did I start to think before I act? WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN?! My God I am so disappointed in myself. I don’t know why, and I don’t know how to stop worrying. People will intentionally get me drunk when we go out, because then the worry disappears and they don’t have to worry about me telling them, this isn’t a good idea! Someone might get hurt! And if they do, so what? Life will go on.

I have lost a brother. I have lost a best friend. And I watched my younger brother cry at the loss of the love of his life. And I think it scared me to a point that I’m too afraid to even move.

I packed all of my things, and the day after high school graduation, moved down to Chicago. Only to be kicked out, two weeks later, and came home. Only to be dumped – run to my best friend at the time, who started dating my other best friend, and find out that she cared more about laying in bed with him strung out on pills then my breaking heart, my first real breakup.

I saw the pain my mom and dad went thru when my older brother died. The lost in their eyes. The grief was a curtain you had to push past to walk into the room they were sitting in. I saw their relationship become this beautiful thing that it had never been – where they leaned on each other, were kind to each other, loved each other. And then watched as that slowly imploded back into the screaming and crying and hateful spews of words that it was for so many years.

I’m afraid of life. Life is not supposed to be these things. Its supposed to be an adventure. You’re supposed to have fun. The sad and hard things are supposed to make you stronger, and a better person, and more determined to live a life that’s going to be full and have meaning. Instead, I’ve backed myself into this dark little corner where nothing can touch me. Nothing can happen. Nothing can go wrong.

I am determined. I am going to figure out what it is that I need to do to let all this fear go, and I’m going to do it. I am done being confined. I am done being scared. And I am so so done with playing it safe. Whatever it is, I am going to do it with a confidence that I’m going to have to dig deep to find. I AM going to buy a house, and if we get foreclosed on – throw my hands up and say “OH WELL!”. I am going to live a life that my kids will proudly tell stories about someday. My mom was cooler than you. I am going to have FUN with my husband, and my brother, and my friends that I care so much about. If I should go, or loose another person, I am NOT going to regret anything. Not like I do with the three I have already seen go too soon.

Watch out world – and my poor husband – the wild child is coming back. And you better believe, she’s going to raise hell this time around.