I mean it. I really do.
What makes me want to be him? What has seized me this morning?
I want to get away from everything. Drop off the face of the earth for a few days. Spend those days in the sun, or maybe in the shade hiding from it's harsh gaze.
I want to scrap the job. Scrap the time I spend doing things I don't want to do. I want a good night's sleep. I want to relax. I want to see the sunset from Mallory Square.
I want to take a lunchbreak that lasts all day.
I want to throw on my pack and walk. Up mountains, under blooming rhododendrons, through streams and mud. I want to crush my problems with every step.
Got a roof over my head,I want to find myself someone who isn't interested in who I am, just in what I say I've done. I want to spend time with them for a few days, and make up baldfaced, bullshit lies.
I want to hear people speaking Hindi in the barbecue line.
I need time for to play.
Besides she bitches about the mosquitoesI need a day where I wake up to a crisp morning, clear of clouds. By now, the dew has dried. There's a chill in the air, and it's freezing in the shade, but the sunlight warms the body. The only sounds are the birds chirping, and I sit on a rock sipping hot chocolate and feeling like nothing can touch me.
Billy Clyde wasn't insane, you know. In fact, I'd say he was right.
A short trip on the schooner Tiki wouldn't suck, nor would one on the SS Minnow, but we can leave the Skipper, Professor, Mr. & Mrs. Howell, and Gilligan on the docks.
I want to throw my terminal daydream into my backpack and take it wherever I go.
Maybe I could make a run down to Biloxi or Pascagoula. I've always wanted to go.
I want a date to go dancing and dining. I want to stop and say, "Damnit, the pleasure was worth all the pain!"
I swear, I smell rum right now. . . Oh, wait. Yep, it's just me.
If you're looking for a quote from me I'll be under the mango tree.
Last Sunday, I thought about renting a sailboat after the Black Bear Midsummer rite. I haven't been on water in a couple of years. I miss the wind and the spray. No one likes sailboats today, though. They're hard. You have to have skill. Who would bother with that?
I should forget the blind ambition and learn to finally trust my intuition. This cowboy doesn't belong in the jungle he's in.
I was in the airport last night (no, you may not know why), and was staring at the departure boards. I picked out a few places and thought about where I could go that night.
I think I will be in Denver next year. Maybe sometime in the spring. I don't think I can pull it off this autumn, which is when I really want to go.
I want to go to New Orleans. I want to sit in Jackson Square at midnight and drink cheap wine. I want to eat doughnuts at the Café Du Monde. I want to live on the things that excite me.
I want to call an old flame from Paris or maybe a noisy bar in Avalon, just to see how she's doing. I want to see the southern cross again, high in the sky. I remember the first time I saw it, that clear March night. It was slightly out of repair, but still beautiful.
It's definitely time to go home. I haven't seen my full nuclear family in a long time, almost 6 months at this point. I should be in Chicago sometime soon. Maybe more than once.
I want to go back to Boston. Next time I do that, though, will be next October. I can't make it to the Celtic Colloquium this year, but I can next year. Who knows, maybe I'll have a paper for submission.
My nomad feet came complete with wandering toes, and they're looking for an excuse to get some exercise.
I want to listen to some Benny Spellman, Doctor John, Sweet Irma Thomas, or Frog man Henry.
I want to tell the story of my original destination.
I've probably got about another 35 good years left. . . Still, it's not that long a stay. We only go around once, after all.
I want to lead, not refuse to dance.
I want to lie shipwrecked and comatose drinking fresh mango juice.
This morning's chaos working has started me thinking. Maybe we'll discuss it later. For right now, though, let's just say that there's nothing a lunch hour in the sun can't cure.
If anyone has a copy of the 1968 movie, I Sailed to Tahiti With an All Girl Crew, I'll bring the popcorn.
Pardon me. I need to go commit a little mortal sin.
It'll be good for my soul.