Rebel, Rebel

Here's how much of a rule follower I am: When John has repeatedly suggested walking on the golf course path in our neighborhood (after hours), I always point out the sign that clearly states that only registered golfers are allowed. No walkers or bikers. He usually responds by saying "screw it," and I end up following along, biting my nails the whole time lest the Stoneybrook security force or the course ranger bust us.  Other times, he rolls his eyes at me and keeps walking on the designated walking path, half amused/half annoyed that I am such a square. Of course, the consequences wouldn't be that harsh--a verbal warning, maybe a citation with a fine (if they're even allowed to do that). But, it's breaking the rules, and I am completely uncomfortable with that.

I try to be rebellious.  I wrote for a blog that called out our failing school system for what it has become. At the end of last year, I quit a job when I felt slighted for the umpteenth time. I went into business with a super-rebel, hoping she could free my inner renegade. Those acts of courage worked...a little.

My friend, Dana, referred to me as the queen of the mini-rebellion. When others shout out, "Fuck the system," I'm more like, "As long as we can be diplomatic about it."

It doesn't work that way, unfortunately. You're either a rebel, or you're me.

And, I'm OK with that. Someone has to keep all the rebels in my life in line.


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