So empty it’s broken

When I was in high school my dad used to preach at me about not letting my gas tank run completely out.  And I always did.  I always pushed it wayyy to close to the line and coasted into the station on fumes.

And then one day, on the side of the road, the car just refused to go.  No fumes.  No nothing.  Done.  I had to call my dad and while he bitched at me for the entire half hour it took to come get me, he came, filled me up and thank God my fuel pump was OK.  Because apparently, I could have “ruined the entire fucking engine!! and do you have any IDEA how lucky you are!?!?!”

I’m on the side of the road again.  On empty.  Beyond E, actually.

Except now I don’t know who to call.  And if they came, I’m not sure the fuel pump wouldn’t be broken.  I’m afraid I just may be “ruining the entire fucking thing” because I just. can’t. go.  I’ve got no more gas left to give.

I used to get run down and need a little break.  I used to come home from work and need an hour – maybe even two – of quiet time and veg time in front of the TV.  I used to go outside and have a cigarette when I needed to decompress for a minute or two.  I used to, once in a while, have a girl’s night out to just “get away” and “recharge”.

I used to coast in on fumes just in time for a fill up, and that used to work.

But I am so empty now it hurts.  I am too empty to make it to the station.  I cannot give anymore.  I just. can’t.

And my poor husband.  I don’t have it in me right now to nurture him.  I don’t have it in me to comfort him and reassure him and explain to him that I’m not leaving… for good.  It’s like an out of body experience where I can SEE what he needs from me… bu I just. can’t.  I don’t want to.  I don’t want to try and work and save my marriage right now.  I just don’t want to try that hard on anyone else but me.

Me.  Just me.  That’s all I want to handle.  My needs.  My wants.  My whims and urges and fantasies.  What do I want to do?  Where do I want to go?  What do I want to spend the rest of MY life doing?  Or just, for the love of God, the rest of MY night?


No doctor’s or dentist’s or lunch money or pictures.  No conferences or training wheels or potty training or speech therapists.  No chore lists or bed time stories or bath times or teeth brushing.  Unless, you know, I want to… for a bit.

No cat vomit.  No laundry.  No dishes or counters or floors.  No pee on the foot of the toilet.  No linens that haven’t been changed.  No storage room that needs to be organized or taxes that need to be filed.  No budgets to write, no bills to pay, no deposits to make or registers to balance.

Just. no.

No. more.

I’m sitting here, on the side of the road, at that space behind the E.  And I’m scared to death that I may ruin everything – my marriage, my family, my life… because I can’t see past a primal instinct to cut and run and leave the fucker sit on the side of the road while I sprint to an oasis.  I have this overwhelming urge to leave them all behind while I try desperately to satisfy my own immediate wants and needs.

Me. me. me. Just….. me….

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