Bed Rest Is Not For Everyone...
Lately, I've hit that plateau in my life where I'm bored with the "sameness" in life, and ready for an adventure. More specifically, it seems I'm ready to cause trouble, since I find myself engaging in gossip and not keeping my mouth shut when I should be practicing a bit more discretion, and looking for ways to play with fire without any real or lasting consequences.
I'm not sure what causes that restless streak in me; all I know is that it will appear out of nowhere, after a long time of seeming fond of the pieces of security, routine, love, and certainty I can find in my life. After all, my life has not typically been characterised by those things and I do value them. I will go through months where I prefer playing trivia on Saturday night to exploring a new place, staying in and watching a DVD to drinking in a bar with friends. It will be weeks until it occurs to me that I haven't engaged in flirtatious banter with anyone who isn't my significant other, and I've unconsciously gone a week or two without a martini.
Then, BOOM. Something hits me all at once, where I still value the stability of my life, but miss the adventure and uncertainty and drama of how things used to be in my life. Let's face it, to a certain extent, I thrive on the drama and uniqueness of life, no matter how much I claim to want to hide myself away, concern myself only with the simple things, find happiness in quiet moments like a good book or favourite TV show, and need the attention or company of others less.
Since I've been ill and that illness has severely limited my energy over the past few months, it seems fairly natural I'd be attacked by restlessness sooner or later. And, fortunately, tucked quietly away in my little room, there isn't that negative tendency of mine where restlessness becomes recklessness to worry about.
I have everything I could want in my life: a roof over my head, food in my pantry, bills somehow paid each month, a boyfriend who cares about me and is an honest, open person, a steady job, and a group of friends to turn to when I need them. And, yet, I can recall a time when I had none of those things and felt more free.
There has to be a way to reconcile a need for stability with a need for adventure, without turning to excess in either direction, as I've always been so prone to do. After all, I'm a grown up now. That restless quarter-life crisis thing is officially over, and I can stop trying to find myself. I think I've been located. Yet, part of me really wants to go out and end up dancing on a bar covered in feathers and glitter, for no apparent reason.
For years, good friends of mine have been urging me to write an autobiography, which I've dismissed as silly for a number of reasons, the most important being that I'm not that old, and I'm not famous or interesting. There are also a number of contradictions about me, one being that I'm a very open person in some ways, yet intensely private in others. I don't think I'd ever want to be the victim of a writer with a "True Life Story On Lifetime" complex. Yet, about a week ago, an idea took hold in my brain where it might be an interesting idea to recall some of my crazy adventures in life through a voice not my own, fictionalize other scenarios and characters, and end up with an interesting novel or collection of short stories.
It may end up being complete and utter crap. It may end up being trashy and akin to "Sex And The City", which someone's already written. Or, it may end up being insightful and literary in some way. I have no idea. All I know is my goal is to write at least 90,000 words, and fashion it into some form of manuscript...and when I'm done, I can cross "Write a book." off of my bucket list.
However, it seems that writing about adventure makes me more anxious to incorporate more adventure into my relatively dull, weird-mystery-disease, Valium-enhanced life, I mean, seriously? How can a person be restless on daily doses of tranquilizers?
Somehow, I've figured it out, though. Maybe if I just get well enough to tolerate going to trivia in a loud bar with bright lights, I won't be so bored with the little things...and by the time winter hits, I'll be content enough for my hibernation. Next March, I'll emerge healthy, having lost 20 pounds, and ready for 100 degree weather and sunshine again. Maybe I'll even live in a nicer apartment, or have a more lucrative job.
I have about a month to get this restless streak out of my system before hibernation begins, Bring on the adventure! :)
I'm not sure what causes that restless streak in me; all I know is that it will appear out of nowhere, after a long time of seeming fond of the pieces of security, routine, love, and certainty I can find in my life. After all, my life has not typically been characterised by those things and I do value them. I will go through months where I prefer playing trivia on Saturday night to exploring a new place, staying in and watching a DVD to drinking in a bar with friends. It will be weeks until it occurs to me that I haven't engaged in flirtatious banter with anyone who isn't my significant other, and I've unconsciously gone a week or two without a martini.
Then, BOOM. Something hits me all at once, where I still value the stability of my life, but miss the adventure and uncertainty and drama of how things used to be in my life. Let's face it, to a certain extent, I thrive on the drama and uniqueness of life, no matter how much I claim to want to hide myself away, concern myself only with the simple things, find happiness in quiet moments like a good book or favourite TV show, and need the attention or company of others less.
Since I've been ill and that illness has severely limited my energy over the past few months, it seems fairly natural I'd be attacked by restlessness sooner or later. And, fortunately, tucked quietly away in my little room, there isn't that negative tendency of mine where restlessness becomes recklessness to worry about.
I have everything I could want in my life: a roof over my head, food in my pantry, bills somehow paid each month, a boyfriend who cares about me and is an honest, open person, a steady job, and a group of friends to turn to when I need them. And, yet, I can recall a time when I had none of those things and felt more free.
There has to be a way to reconcile a need for stability with a need for adventure, without turning to excess in either direction, as I've always been so prone to do. After all, I'm a grown up now. That restless quarter-life crisis thing is officially over, and I can stop trying to find myself. I think I've been located. Yet, part of me really wants to go out and end up dancing on a bar covered in feathers and glitter, for no apparent reason.
For years, good friends of mine have been urging me to write an autobiography, which I've dismissed as silly for a number of reasons, the most important being that I'm not that old, and I'm not famous or interesting. There are also a number of contradictions about me, one being that I'm a very open person in some ways, yet intensely private in others. I don't think I'd ever want to be the victim of a writer with a "True Life Story On Lifetime" complex. Yet, about a week ago, an idea took hold in my brain where it might be an interesting idea to recall some of my crazy adventures in life through a voice not my own, fictionalize other scenarios and characters, and end up with an interesting novel or collection of short stories.
It may end up being complete and utter crap. It may end up being trashy and akin to "Sex And The City", which someone's already written. Or, it may end up being insightful and literary in some way. I have no idea. All I know is my goal is to write at least 90,000 words, and fashion it into some form of manuscript...and when I'm done, I can cross "Write a book." off of my bucket list.
However, it seems that writing about adventure makes me more anxious to incorporate more adventure into my relatively dull, weird-mystery-disease, Valium-enhanced life, I mean, seriously? How can a person be restless on daily doses of tranquilizers?
Somehow, I've figured it out, though. Maybe if I just get well enough to tolerate going to trivia in a loud bar with bright lights, I won't be so bored with the little things...and by the time winter hits, I'll be content enough for my hibernation. Next March, I'll emerge healthy, having lost 20 pounds, and ready for 100 degree weather and sunshine again. Maybe I'll even live in a nicer apartment, or have a more lucrative job.
I have about a month to get this restless streak out of my system before hibernation begins, Bring on the adventure! :)