Confessions From the Exit Ramp

I'm good. I'm not losing my mind. I'm GOOD. This is just stress. Stress can do crazy things to a person's mind, right? Hallucinations, paranoia, false memories. That's all this is. My child self is NOT calling my cell!

I just need to get out of this motel. Get a good breakfast. Put some miles behind me.

I'm good... I'm good... I'm good...

WTF?? I am supposed to be ESCAPING my life, not receiving cryptic messages on my phone from a strange kid inviting me to 'go within' and heal my inner freaking child.

Maybe I'm just exhausted. Sure. That's it. I just need a good night's sleep.

I wouldn't say no to a stiff drink, either.

Rue is 42, and she blew up her life in a single afternoon. Now she’s driving — to where? Good question. For how long? Who knows. But if you’re into stories that are raw, messy, and real, ride shotgun as Rue records her unfiltered thoughts from the road — documenting the exit from one life and the uncertain entrance into another.

And here I am, in a 1970s throwback of a motel, on the side of the highway.

This seems like a good place to stop for a while and plan my next move. Hah! That's funny. The "having a plan" part, I mean. No. I have no plan, no destination, and no ultimate goal. I am just taking it hour by hour. Hey, would you take a look at me? Living in the present moment. People pay thousands of dollars to wellness gurus to achieve this state of being. And I didn't have to pay a penny. Well, not counting this motel, that is, which is only $69 a night. A deal, right?

(Rue thinks she can kick back and 'not think' for a night. But then, her phone buzzes... )

Hey. I'm Rue. That's short for Ruth — not that it really shortens anything, does it?

I'm 42, and today I blew up my life in a single afternoon. Quit my job. Quit my boyfriend. Emptied my bank account. Left everything behind and just… drove.

It’s just me, my car, a shoebox of blank cassettes, and this old analog cassette recorder I stole from the office on my way out the door.

Where am I going? No idea.
Do I regret it? Not yet.
Am I scared? Absolutely.