Not even sure where. Or how. Just...hit the road, do a runner, take a hike, slip out the back, Jack. Gimme a ticket to an airplane. Ain't got time to take a fast train.
Beach, mountain, Las Vegas strip, the desert, the Great Holy Trees, tiny town on a Mexican coast. St. George Island. Hawaii, Bora-Bora, Tahiti, Key West, The Old West, Australia, New Zealand, Bali. It doesn't matter in my mind.
Although of course...
Thanks for the reminder, Mary Engelbreit, you font of highly illustrated wisdom.
If I had to be myself anywhere, that place doesn't look so bad, does it? Reminds me of El Cielo.
And all of this desire to run away is simply, of course, because I want to run from responsibility. Just... throw responsibility to the wind and flee.
Even though here it looks like this.
Which does not suck. And I have this.
Extremely blurry picture of all the chickens except one of the Chi-Chas who is on the nest AND Maurice, doing her morning observation of the birds wherein she pretends to neither see nor care about me or the chickens.
Venice, Venice Beach. Cairo, Egypt. Cairo, Georgia. Vero Beach, Sebastian, Roseland, Jamaica, Oregon. I have a passport. I know how to use it.
And yet, the mere fact that I have to drive ALL THE WAY TO TALLAHASSEE has me quaking.
Crazy level nearing the red line.
Where do you fantasize about running away to? Let's pretend...