The Walk of Doom

I'm in a funk today.  In an unusual, but nice, change, I know exactly why I'm not myself, but I can't find a way to put it into words without making myself sound like a crazy person.  No matter, I'm not writing about that, anyway.  Instead, we're going to try to snap me out of it.

When I was 22, I used to do this stupid thing where I'd be out somewhere with friends, and out of nowhere, I'd just be over it and not want to be there anymore.  So, I'd leave.  I didn't tell anyone, I'd just gather whatever things I happened to have, and walk home.  I don't mean I'd walk home a block or two, I mean I'd walk miles.

This would have been fine, great exercise in fact, except I was drunk whenever I did this, and it was always in the middle of the night.  Sometimes my location forced me to walk through the bad part of town.  Others, I ended up on a major highway.  Sometimes I didn't have a coat, sometimes I was dressed slutty, and once I even lost a pair of shoes because at some point I decided I simply could not wear them any longer and abandoned them altogether.  My friends would eventually notice my absence and go looking for me, but I guess I took really strange routes, because they were never able to find me.  I didn't have a phone, so no one could call.  One time, I even got lost and didn't get home until almost 7 AM.

I'm really not sure what the purpose of doing that was.  There were people who would have given me a safe ride home, and if not, I could have called George.  Probably, anyway.  He was going through some things, too, but I don't think those things involved wanting me to die walking home.  More than likely, he'd have been pissed off, but he would have come.  But, for whatever reason, whenever I got the wild idea that I just couldn't be there one second longer, I walked home.  I was a really self destructive 22 year old.

And now, I have no idea why I chose to write about this.  It didn't help my mood any.  I do, however, think I'll take a walk.  That sounds like just the thing I need.