Arrivederci, B*tches!
I’m packing my bags and cannot wait to get the hell out of town.
There is nothing in this world that would make me happier than a vacation. Unless Ed McMahon knocks on my door and offers a few million dollars, and I can retire early. The likelihood of that happening is zero, so I’ll take Door #2: Travel.
I am ready to get the fuck out of town.
No, maybe the state.
Hmmm, perhaps the time zone.
You know what? Fuck it. As the wise Woody Harrelson once advised, “Nut up or shut up.” So, I’m all in: I’m throwing up deuces and taking a vacation outside of the U.S.
I’m fatigued, and I find myself dreading going to work on more days that I care to admit. I have a job that I am needed 24/7, but countless people, and even on my “off time,” I’m called. To make it worse, more than half of the time, it is about the dumbest shit in the universe. Each morning, I find myself clinching the steering wheel in a death-grip that would make Darth Vader proud. Once I pull into a parking spot, I turn off the car, sigh, and ask myself “I wonder what kind of circus-shit awaits me today.”
I haven’t always felt like this. Honestly, I enjoy my job and what I do…Just not lately and I know exactly what the problem is: Burn out.
Every day, it feels like I am herding cats.
Is it too much to ask that on my lunch break that I actually eat lunch? Preferable, somewhere else that is not at my desk?
Is it too much to ask that I not be called at home while I’m at home, pants-less sitting on the recliner licking the Cheeto dust off my fingers watching The Big Bang Theory?
Seriously, Karen. Could this shit not wait until the next business day when I’m back in the office or in an email?
It’s been two years since I have had a decent vacation. Literally, it’s been more than 730 days, and oh boy, it is sorely needed! I can feel that I am running on fumes, my temper is on a razor’s edge, and the tiniest of things get under my skin. This is NOT the person I am known for, who I want to be, and I feel drained.
I will go somewhere that I was supposed to go in 2019 but couldn’t due to family circumstances and got robbed again due to the fuckery 2020 wanted to unfold unto the world. Where could this destination be?
Italy! 🇮🇹
Right now, I am writing about this daydream of traveling to the “Bel Paese” (“Beautiful Country”) as I listen to an excellent Italian playlist, I stumbled on YouTube to help set the mood.
I want to wake up with the smell of the sea salt in the air and see a gentle breeze from the Almafi Coast flowing through my hotel curtains. The aroma of hand-tossed pizzas in the oven smothered with homemade pesto sauce and savory cheeses filling my nostrils. Twirling my skirt around, I want to get lost in the ancient architecture and wonder about what stories the cobblestone streets are going to whisper to me.
My only stressor should be trying to figure out how to say, “Excuse me. What do you recommend? I am allergic to eggs.” Or panic one more morning at discovering that I don’t fit into my pants because I pigged out on gelato, pasta, and vino.
Nothing makes me feel more alive than a trip to a foreign location. My senses are in overdrive, I get a rush of excitement, and I relish in the idea of getting lost. The flight has been booked, the countdown widget has been installed on my phone, and I’ve broken out the Italian phrasebook.
If you need to get ahold of me, let me know. I’ll send you a postcard. ✌️
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