Shake out the boring

I admit I have been a bit of an emotional mess this past week. Somehow, this thing that happened has provided a deep source within - like this scary melting pot of anxieties and sadnesses - related to the crash and not.

I'm seeking normalness again. I cry a lot, and I know that isn't me as I should be, normally. I see weird significance in a lot of things, but for the most part, I feel stunned. Stunned like I have been hit by a big brick in the face. Stunned like I have been living by the motions, without inspiration. Smells were without scent, love was without passion, sights were drab and colorless. To me, this is the ultimate symptom of modern misery. When we grow so accustomed to our lives of hell and stress, and are no longer fighting it constantly. Our days are routine and boring. We could be tracked easily by our movements - 9 Am, Starbucks Frappucino. 11:30 Am, phone call to my mother. 4:30 Pm - drive home and wish I weren't driving home, wish I were home already.

If you have seen the movie "Fight Club", and you hear Edward Norton's narrative at the beginning about his life as a boring IKEA catalogue puruser, you know what I mean. When you can't remember the last time you did something spontaneous and different that you think you could fall into an IKEA furniture style - Hemingway or Ashton or Blur - your life has become meaningless and you have fallen into the trap of the Matrix.

I've been jarred out of my normalcy. I don't feel boring. I feel as if I am still trying to comprehend the absolute severity in which I was shook up and out. Today I made Green Tea instead of coffee for breakfast. Although this was mostly because I ran out of coffee, and I haven't wanted to drive to the grocery store, I feel that my aberration from routine excited me somehow.

I don't want a cookie cutter life. In fact, I think if you were to talk to anyone who knows me, they would laugh if you were to describe me as one of the 'normals'. I don't do it all this way on purpose. I honestly march to the beat of a very different drum. I haven't been very good at doing things because you are supposed to...I think that is apparent when you walk into my home.

I erred against my emotional needs. I began to walk a boring existence. I began to become an IKEA style, when everyone knows I like to shop at antique stores and Goodwill. I am not meant to be the kind of person who becomes excited when it is the white sale in the Macy's home department.

Last night, I got high on painkillers and drove around and looked at houses for sale. As I drove, I realized what a wannabe yuppie I have been.

There is a house for sale that is a run down 80s cedar, designed by someone on LSD. It has no apparent, normal floorplan, and is kind of just loosely arranged around a large rectangular/square area. It sits on 2.5 acres in the woods, with an electric fence, an electronic keypad at the gate, and video surveillance.

On the other hand, there are a million spec vinyl-sided split levels for sale, all on about a 1/4 acre, in the middle of a sea of subdivisions.

I had been looking at these spec monstrosities. They aren't me. I don't really want grass to mow, or neighbors nearby with their polished SUVs and 3K wooden playhouses in the backyard. I don't fit there.

I'll call the realtor on the house on the woods. Time to start behaving like myself again.