For some reason, I got my passport updated six years ago. #delusionsofplandeur
And as the weather improves, I realize I’ve yet to partake in the cliché Eat, Pray, Malaria experience I so long to enjoy.
Part of it’s lack of funds. Part of it’s plain old fear of the unknown. Part of it’s that I have a finite amount of patience when it comes to airports (and I feel like my reserves got temporarily tapped after my last trip to L.A.) But mostly, it’s about funds. And I don’t just mean the flight and stuff either. I’d like to pretend I could do the hostel thing or backpack, bumming around all Bohemian on a bike in Anywhere, Earth. But the truth is, I think I’d short circuit a little once the gravity of such a low-maintenance set up set in.
I might even be alright with nixing makeup or internet for a bit. But taking away my coffee or soup cups? That’s akin to fisticuffs. Punishable by quarter horsing. I’m a wildebeest upon waking. Don’t care where I am.
I don’t need all this crap I say I need.
Not to keep converting oxygen to carbon dioxide, anyway. And the nature of that changes zero whether I’m here or across the globe. However, I’m unwilling to give it up here. And so long as that’s so, it’s not going to be much of a pleasant holiday I’m footing funds for, if I have to do without it on top of jet lag, TSA molestation, getting pickpocketed by reprobate children, and gesticulating a senselessly improvised sign language to the locals – all the while thinking “I shoulda done Rosetta Stone…”
The point being, when I go – I want it all. Locale and amenities.
So, on a rainy day like this, fccka passport. Burn it. I’mma armchair pilot this bitch to places that have both.
“This is your captain speaking.
I’m in the cockpit playing video games and drinking ayahuasca tea. ’cause this is a fantasy. And I do what I want.
Also, if you look under your chairs, you all get free flotation devices!!!!1 And you’ll need them because our first water landing destination’s in the Maldives…”
Choose-your-own-adventure moment: to drown in a watery grave, stay here. To spend a week in the Maldives before heading to other luxury resorts, put your cursor over lady’s bum and click:
