Closed Doors

I am sketching to the outer limits and back over the DIL-to-be's retreat behind closed doors. The many family members who love burrowing behind closed doors tend to be the no-life losers with a sense of entitlement bigger than our national debt. Adding technology to their burrows only makes it easier for them to play congressional shopper in their PJs. I don't know this woman well enough to know her burrowing herstory, but my runner logics do not even care to hear yet another round of anything from anybody who is even capable of spending two weeks closed in a small room while they are physically healthy. It triggers me into pure fight or flight mode. My own sons are the only ones I have ever cared enough to fight for in recent decades, whether it was the eviction of burrowing relatives or the refusal to let them wallow in the depressive and depressing behaviour. For all others - parents, siblings or random strays - I have been running for decades.
The burrowing tactics of the DIL-to-be are most decidedly triggering me to flight. My travel cravings have always been pronounced. I am, quite simply, a wandering soul. Since I accomplished my goal of raising my children all in one place, my wandering urges have returned to being a dominant trait. I find nothing whatsoever worth wanting in the MIL/old wife icons. Women's lib has only made them uglier. My current reactions to the newest round of closed door politics have me wanting to leave a note on the kitchen table saying "Adios. DIL is the mama now. I am off in search of what's next."
My beloved is much more objective about closed doors than I am, but he also is growing nervous about the prospect of never being able to get the adults off the payroll. With a prospective DIL asserting herself as an uncommunicative shadow, he has begun to worry about the joys of raising another family with the added joys of dysfunctional parents playing 21st century romance games. DIL is romantic enough to give us flashbacks of watching little girls in the park moving Barbie and Ken from the wedding to the divorce with the speed of a mouse click. She even loves the future-divorcee chick flicks with dye-headed passion. The smell of hair dye and anti-aging products should be saturating the house any day now.
God, I want to get back on the road and get myself as far as possible from glare of Light Age Enlightenment.