What We Fantasize About Is What We Need

jennikonrad

There are days when I will see a post by a friend of mine, a woman who gave up an ad career and moved to an island and has a farm and sheep and chickens and I get this wave of envy and I think man if my husband suddenly got a high paying job at the University of Awesome Small PNW Island I'd totally give up the life here I've busybodied myself into and I'd get up in the morning and maybe homeschool the kids or send them off to the local digs while I milked the eggs and tended to the goat's nests and wheedled some promises out of basil and cukes, and I'd wear shorts and teeshirts and no makeup and not shave my legs or worry about a wax job, and I'd drink tea and write in my journal and maybe paint, yeah I'd paint even though I have no skills to speak of and I'd be quiet and live a life where I didn't feel compelled to post bullshit posts like this on Facebook, or write blogposts about vigils or shows or figure out my "brand" or think about much more than what kind of lovely meal and wine to serve to friends at my long large table outside underneath the wisteria.

I kill plants. I doubt I'd manage to survive lancing a boil on a sheep's leg or cleaning the remains of a hawk ravaged goose, and I can't paint, and I'd be a terrible homeschooling parent, and god knows I'd probably wind up on FB more than ever because I am nothing without connection and maybe I'm not ready to be nothing and really what I'm talking about, getting the voice in my head to just chill out and stop buzzing about like so many bees, isn't gonna happen on Lopez Island Washington any more than here.

Therapists are cheaper than islands I suppose, but I'm not sure they come with wisteria and goats.

Comments

  1. I grew up "in the country." It was...significantly less than fun. (In most respects. Every once in a while, it was pretty awesome.)

    Just remember: She's "in the country" too. But she has to deal with tropical heat and exotic varmints.

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