Reading a great book right now,
Water for Elephants. Today, I read this:
I could have sworn that just a few seconds ago I was twenty-three, and now here I am in this wretched, desiccated body.
I couldn’t have said how I feel better than this.
Before y’all call the whaaambulance on me. I will concede my bookmark says, “This portion of the ticket should be retained as evidence of your journey.”
Why Continental Airlines hasn’t turned this mundane bit of text on the back of a seat assignment ticket into a full-blown advertising campaign is baffling. I already want everyone to send me their ticket portions so I can make a coffee table book.
Two weeks ago Saturday I was in a van traveling from Cancun International Airport to Playa Del Carmen where I did nothing but sit on the beach, read, drink, eat, shop, sit on the beach more, read more, eat more, drink more and shop less (money isn’t as free flowing as the tequila in Mexico ;-)
I was here:
A week ago Saturday, I returned from a grueling journey from Cancun to SLC. I was sad as hell knowing the post-vacation-blues were moments from reigning supreme over my soul. Then I had to pack again and fly to San Francisco for a work conference. I was home less than 12 hours.
I like SF. I also like this conference, because I get to catch up with work peeps I only see occasionally. So, I can’t complain.
Today, is Monday, and I have no where to go but back to reality. Travel is amazing, but completely unnatural. If a fish flows from the salty sea up a fresh water river, it eventually knows when it has reached its Darwinian limitations.
Humans get in jets, pressurize their bodies so they expand then contract (making me puffy). We breath bad air, kink our necks trying to sleep while moving from tropical, seaside climate zones directly into 6,000 ft. elevation, arid deserts in one hour. No wonder I feel desiccated. I woke up this morning flailing like a fish, gasping for water. There isn’t enough water, or lotion in the world to make me feel better. And that’s just my skin. In just two weeks I’ve been to too many places, seen too many great things and caught up with too many great people than is Darwinianly reasonable, even for a wannabe socialite like me.
Plus, anytime you travel, whether work or pleasure, you eat poorly, drink much more than usual and never sleep well. I look like the Pillsbury Doughboy, only if you push in my tummy, I won’t giggle. I’ll puke on your shoes.
