It has been a long time since I took an actual vacation. I went to Las Vegas for a week in the early spring of ’05 or 06, I think. I do know that I haven’t spent a night away from this house since I moved in.
I’m long overdue. I need to get away for a while, to just be someplace else for a while. I do love my house, and the cats, and my mother lives in town and I love her. I do like my job, and most of the time I don’t mind being called in to fix things.
But I need a break. I need to go away from everything familiar and figure out who I am when I’m not what everyone else wants me to be. Well, not get away from everyone…
MzSusanB and I are taking a trip next week to Myrtle Beach, which is somewhere on the East side of the Mississippi river, I hear. There’s supposed to be an ocean over on that side of America, too. I’m not very familiar with the whole East Coast thing.
But that’s good. I know the Great Plains and the Desert States and Southern California, it’ll be good to see something new. Susan assures me that they do, in fact, have electricity and running water in the Eastern Wasteland, and the odds of us being eaten by Mutant Cannibal Yankees is actually rather low.
So on Wednesday morning, very early, we are going to load up Susan’s shiny new car and head towards the rising sun. She likes to drive. She likes to drive a lot, so much so that a better person than me would probably do some kind of intervention. Me, I just take advantage of it, because I hate to drive. I did too much of it for a living.
So she will drive and I will ride in the passenger seat and we’ll talk about life and love and art and poetry and all the stuff we are driving past and listen to music and sing along.
It’ll be good. We travel well together, we tend to want to stop at about the same time, we appreciate the same kinds of scenery and roadside distractions, we have great conversations.
So I won’t be writing much next week. But I’ll be back the week after, and I hope to recharged and energized and ready to produce reams of quality writing stuff.
Or else we’ll get eaten by Mutant Cannibal Yankees. But, hey, that’s the risk you take.