Wanderlust medication
Two things occurred to me this morning:
- I've been writing this blog for two months and I haven't written a single travel-related post.
- I'm going to be celebrating a milestone birthday in London two weeks from today.
On the first point, let's just say that I'm aghast. If you had asked me to bet cash money and/or my child on whether I'd have five or less travel-related posts on this very blog after 60 days, I would have taken that bet all day long. As a matter of fact, I'm so predictable on this point that there's no way an oddsmaker would have even put that out there without it being a trick. Because I am always scheming ways to be somewhere.
Like here. In Tofino, way up on Vancouver Island. Where Canadians go to surf. (Because that's apparently a thing)
Somewhere that's on the coast. Somewhere on a lake. Somewhere in another country. Somewhere that's across an ocean. Somewhere in my trailer. Somewhere in a hotel. I have lists of these somewheres. I have freaking plane tickets right now to somewheres.
What the hell, blog brain?! Did Phil sneak something into my wine? Did he discover some sort of wanderlust medication? Did he?! Because I'm kind of panicking now. Highly experimental research must be involved. Phil is always complaining that we never have a weekend at home... Like that's a good thing or something.
It's not.
Did Phil somehow figure out a way to enslave super secret chemist masterminds in an equally secret location until they come up with wanderlust suppression medication? It's the only explanation.
I have the most acute case of wanderlust ever possible for a person (barely) holding down a location-based 9-5 job. It's fully documented on the Facebooks that I hate being at home. This is despite my own contradictory assertion that I live in the best place on earth. (Because I do.) My feet itch, and for more reasons because my feet were in NorCal beach sand all weekend and I don't adequately moisturize. It's because they need to be on foreign ground, exploring all of the places.
These places have grocery stores that I need to explore, people! I need to walk the aisles and read your packaging. I have to see your colorful market displays and bad English translations. I need to smell your freshly baked things. I need to know what kind of chips you have. I don't even eat chips at home, but somehow I need to consume them all when I'm off continent.
Kiwis like chicken chips, and so do I!
And if you have the audacity to have it, I need to judge your Mexican food. Edinburgh, I'm looking at you. How dare you put cinnamon sugar in your carnitas and serve it with Louisiana hot sauce! I'm still recovering from that crime against humanity, and it was what, 8 years ago?!
I didn't even know I needed my Snickers in pod form... until now!
It's true that I live to read, but I also live to travel. And eat. I live to read, travel, and eat. Together. There. But it would seem that I haven't been talking about it much. So let's fix that. Because London awaits. In two weeks. OMG. And in London I'm going to eat in so many kebab shoppes and I'm going to consume so many pieces of fried fish that I will surely split my pants. I can barely contain my excitement.
AND... I'm going to be in Mayfair, steps from the stately homes that play so prominently in all of my favorite novels. I can't wait to talk about this tons... perhaps in my next post. But right now, I think I need to figure out how to get some chicken chips and buy some wine that I'm sure hasn't been contaminated with anti-travel medication.
