Oh, it must almost be March because I am getting The Fever. The Spring Fever, that is. Right around this same time very year, I am bombarded by the overwhelming desire to fuck off to another world. Yes, I want to go traveling, but it’s more than that. I don’t just want to hop on a plane; I want to MOVE SOMEWHERE far, far away. I mean, my head starts filling up with all sorts of grandiose and—honestly—crazy ideas. I want to go to Brazil, Argentina, South Africa, Marrakesh, Ibiza, South East Asia, Prague, Krakow, Bora Bora, Majorca, Crete and South East Asia. And I want to spend extended periods of time in all of these places becoming a local, soaking up the culture and the language and whittling away my existence in some vague way making a difference.
But I want to keep my condo here and never run out of money. And if I could find a life partner while I’m at it, that would also be great. I pour over maps of the World and nearly eat myself up with desire and lust for all these wonderful far-off places. Sometimes I even go so far as to get onto a website to check out airfares. Then I see that it would cost me $4200 to fly to Johannesburg, I sigh, come back to reality and get on with the rest of my day.
I have seriously got to get a job at Air Canada or something.
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