Wistful Thinking

Most days, it's easy to feel good about my life. After all, I have so much more than so many people. For one, I don't have a hook for a hand. Also, I've never done that thing where I put one red sock in with all my whites. Actually, I don't sort my laundry because that requires patience and a desire for "crisp" colors that I frankly don't possess. I have been called fat while riding my bike in my bathing suit when I was in my early teens, but I'm just about over that. So yeah, my life isn't horrible. But there are still days where I feel trapped and helpless. There are days where I feel like I made a terrible wrong turn somewhere and I have no idea how I ended up where I am.

My mom and I took a trip recently, to Nashville, for a family wedding. In the days leading up to the trip, when I would feel my usual "where is my life headed?" ennui, I told myself not to worry because soon, I would be on the road, hurtling toward a new place, a place entirely different from my usual surroundings. This trip, this change in my routine, I convinced myself, would give my life meaning--at least for a few days. And that's what I long for. I want to feel alive, I guess.

It did feel good to get out of Michigan. I sat in the passenger seat, not listening to music or watching movies on my iPod or reading one of the dozen magazines I brought, just looking out the window at the countryside, the farms, the towns, the trees and open fields. I've always liked looking out the window. Maybe it's the writer in me. I like to get a glimpse into other people's worlds. I have a deep melancholy for places I've never been and lives I haven't lived.

One of my favorite parts of the trip was when my mom and I stopped at Arby's. The employees all had southern accents, and because I don't have a southern accent, I imagined that they were all delighted by my uniqueness and entranced by my lack of twang. I long to be cool and mysterious. I wanted one of them to say something to me like, "You sound like up north." And later I actually told my mom that one of them did say that to me, because it just makes for an adorable anecdote, even though it's a completely made-up lie.

The wedding was beautiful, but it served as a painful reminder that my life is bitterly empty and without meaning or purpose. I don't have a boyfriend, so I'm certainly nowhere near getting engaged or married. And I probably won't have a baby anytime soon, which I want even more than I want to get married. I might have to go to a sperm bank. I might! Just let it go. I think I can do most of the process of picking out the ideal sperm donor from my iPhone, so it's not going to be a big hassle when I decide to do it. And that's nice. At least there's an app for that, you know??

The other day, I was lying in bed doing nothing, so I decided to watch one of the myriad of programs I taped thinking oooohhh that sounds good, I'll want to watch that later. This particular show was on TLC and it was called "Half Ton Killer?" It was about this woman who weighs around 850 pounds and how she killed her nephew by rolling over on him. Or did she? The show was trying to figure out if she killed him or if she was covering for her sister. I'll save you an hour. She was covering for her sister, who beat the child to death with a hairbrush. It turns out the half ton woman couldn't have killed her nephew by rolling over on him because, you guessed it, she can't roll over. The point of me telling you all this is that this woman, the half ton woman, was married! And before you ask me, her husband was pretty normal looking! And he was nice.

That's it, you guys. I give up. I've heard that you meet "the" guy the minute you stop looking. So I guess I'll stop looking, which means my future husband is probably the crane operator who'll be helping to remove me from my bedroom once I reach half-ton status. A girl can dream, right?