We are going on vacation next week. Let me repeat that for those of you in the cheap seats: We are actually getting things together and spending money to go be elsewhere for a few days.
I know that your first reaction is "Yay! That means daily blog updates on the trials and tribulations of surviving in another zip code." And your second is "This means the amnesia necessary to go on vacation again has kicked in." Yes, you'd be right on both counts but here's the big thing.
I am looking forward to it.
Well. Some of it. I am not looking forward to the plane ride. I love airports and I like the idea of flying, but flying, itself, is unnatural and possibly, sinful. And scary. It's not that I'm afraid of heights per se, but that I don't relish the thought of falling from them. And hurtling through the air at 500+ miles per hour, suspended by collective prayer and something called "physics" (is that even a word?), susceptible to the slightest divine whim is not my idea of a good time. For the record, my idea of a good time involves being on earth, surrounded by scantily clad chocolate cake, listening to good music and having many, many people say, in unison, "yes...you are right" while massaging my toes.
But I am looking forward to the plentiful memories of what didn't happen on this trip. Missed opportunities abound and I, for one, am excited at the prospect of not doing things and not meeting famous people. I have heard there is a pool, so I can choose not to swim. There are parks, so I can have someplace to avoid going to. And the food! The chances I will have to deprive myself stagger the imagination.
I can only imagine what might be, if only I choose to be the slightest bit social or adventurous. I will be able to come back bemoaning all the potential outcomes that were there, waiting for me and in whose face I shut the door! I will make albums of the how incredible my life might finally have the shot at being if only.
Ahhh, my favorite words..."if only."