Fugue state

Sometimes, I wish I could just disappear.
No direction, no boss, no worries ... just my money, my car and myself.
It seems like it would be so liberating: No history to speak of, you begin when you wake up and end when you go to sleep.
You don't have to listen to a boss, you don't have to be responsible for other people's jobs, you don't have to second-guess every decision you make because, well, you start over fresh every morning.
There's no history.
Would it be easy to start over?
People can't really disappear anymore. There's too much paperwork to even get a job anonymously, let alone an apartment.
Maybe small towns would offer anonymity. If you're born in a small town, every single person there knows your business until you and every single member of your family leaves. But if you move to a small town, rumors swirl and gossip follows you, but no one KNOWS you.
How marvelous to just reinvent myself -- or to never stay anywhere long enough to allow people to get to know me.
I imagine I'd think I was on a great adventure. Every morning, I'd wake up with a thrill in my stomach, waiting to see what the day would bring me; every evening, I'd sleep with the satisfaction of the new experiences behind me.
But between my boyfriend and my family, my cats and my stuff, my job and the guilt I'd have over leaving unexpectedly -- I think I'm stuck where I am.
I won't be staging a disappearing act any time soon.
So I try to find something to delight in every day.
Today, it was the joy of seeing my cats -- they're brothers -- sleeping wrapped in each other's front legs. They were kittens the last time they actually wrapped their legs around each other.
It's no open road, but it'll do.