I need to get out of here.
I need to leave this place. I've screwed up everything that can be screwed up, and I want out.
I'm not depressed enough to kill myself, but I know it's enough to want to buy a one way ticket out of this place. I need to find a new world, where people don't know the real me. Time to start afresh, and be a new person.
I'll go to Alaska. Get a pet moose, and name him Rudolph. Live in a snowfield, with a single cozy cabin, made of wooden logs, and a giant bookshelf with a cozy fireplace. Next to the fireplace, I'll have an old, but much loved armchair, where I sit and write stories that will never be read. I'll chop logs all day, and go ice fishing. I'll wear warm fur jackets and cute little mittens, and be an adorable little warm person, complete with soft cheeks stained pink in the cold.
I'll make snow-friends. They'll all be the same height as me, and will be sweet and loving. They won't sneer at the way I like to make my own pretend world. They won't ask me if I have a life besides my studies, or have a boyfriend that isn't a stoner. They won't even ask me if they can copy my essays. They'll all love me, for my quirks, like the way that I hate to fight, the way that even a simple 'I love you' that doesn't mean anything will make me feel like this is what we live for. They'll listen when I have to get something off my chest, and they won't judge. They'll just smile icy water smiles that will never fade.
I'll be the little old lady that lives on the hill, who knits things for all the objects in her room, like the fuzzy-wuzzy antique radio, or the snug little pot plant. We'll live together, and it'll be warm. So warm, friendly and happy. The neighbours who come to visit love my baked goods, and tolerate the black coffee that I force down their throats. And when they leave, I'll be sad, but they'll promise they'll be back, because they want more of that cheesecake. And I'll smile, because I love them, and they'll love me. Like a home away from home, they'll be my family away from family.
But eventually, my moose will run away. My snow friends will disappear, much like my real friends, and everything won't be so cozy anymore. Even my neighbours are busy at these times, and no one has time for cheesecake. I'll be lonely. Even my stories won't save me this time.
But then I'll think of what I've left behind. The money, the cars, the drugs and the beautiful plastic people. I've left behind botox and McDonalds and 90210 and cell phones and Disney pop stars and the beach and facebook and-
But then I'll stop. Stop and smile widely, snickering as I go get the last batch of baked french cheesecake in the oven.
I'm not missing out on ANYTHING.
I'll make new snow-friends. Get another pet moose, call him Rudolph the second. Get more books, bake more cheesecake, and laugh as the neighbours come running, begging to be taken back into my cozy kitchen. Knit more random items, like a scarf for a tree, and a beanie for a pet moose. And everything will be lovely and beautiful and warm again.
And if my old friends come back, I'll throw rocks at them, and they will leave. Quickly.
So if I ever go missing, you know where I am. Come join me, there's plenty of cheesecake and black coffee to go around.
Alaska baby. Alaska.