Tell Me The Story of Leaving

Years ago I read and worked through The Artists Way by Julia Cameron.  That book and that author were directly responsible for the writing of my first book.  Well, my only book.  The second book languishes somewhere in the guts of this computer along with essays and feline memories.  Have just stumbled upon a website called Writing From the Soul wherein you are urged to write for 10 minutes straight without editing.  Then, when finished, you are to read it aloud.  Interesting that, for if I read it as though I'm reading it for an audience; slowly and with soft but definite inflection, it reads well.  Do I copy it here?  Why not.  The prompt is:
"Tell me the story of leaving."  I leave when I need a break from reality.  Reality is right here, right now and sometimes it is too real, too now.  Not sure what I want to avoid.  I think it's the future but the future, if left alone by busym ind, remains the future.  I don't honestly know.  Am I bored?  How dare I be bored!  I feel guilty when I'm bored and do boring things.  It's the opposite ends of the spectrum; the thankfulness and *gladness* I felt this morning when returning along our road after cutting forage for the birds, and seeing the quarry mountain lit up with golden early morning light while the western side was clothed in blue and seeing this magnificent view punctuated by two birds flying across the sky - punctuation marks in the empty page of blue sky.  So all this beauty and gratitude, for I was filled with gratitude and then much later in the day after chores and meals and a trip to Toowoomba, I come in here and "leave" by playing one winning game each of solitaire, free cell and spider solitaire.  Why?  Why do I do that?  There's enough work to keep me occupied untiil the end of days.  I've a graphite drawing which has finally passed the difficult state and *invites* me to play with it - but no I come in here and park my bum in this too comfortable chair and bring up Games.

"Tell me the story of leaving".  Sometimes, although grateful and happy most of the time, I would like to trade responsibility, safety, serenity for a life on the road going solo, owing no one and no thing my allegiance.  But it is just a passing fancy.  I'm not 22 anymore.  I like routine and pencil sets and cleanliness and food and a soft bed.