immature

I am fascinated by the fantastic. Princesses and rogues on quests to save the world. True evil defeated by a pure heart, but only after much adventure and hardship. My flowing skirts flying out behind my steed as we race across the plains. I feel as though I should have grown out of this penchant. After all, who wouldn't love the safe, clean life I lead, completely free of evil magicians, cutthroats and pirates. I have this secret wish to be the "chosen one" with unexpected and spectacular powers to aid her on her mission. I even secretly crave the part when they capture her and we are afraid that all is lost, but no, with the help of her noble and courageous friends she escapes and the quest continues. Where is my quest? I don't want to be the farm wife who sells them bread along the way. I want to be the one without whom, hope is gone. It's not the adrenaline I crave but the special and important, the powerful. The same thing my two-year-old craves. Apparently my growth has been stunted at some point but I need an adventure that matters. I know that technically parenting is supposed to fill that need but lots of days it feels a little pedestrian. Dishes, make beds, legos, more dishes, you know the drill. So, I guess I'll keep listening to fantasy on my ipod while I do the laundry and wait for the wizard to show up at my front door.