Next week is the start of my week-long Spring break, which I feel I am approaching in the same manner in which a parched man, marooned in the desert, would inch towards an oasis -- tongue hanging out, arms clawing forward, eyes dry, yet full of hope, mind bent on only one thing: salvation. The same way a woman, alone on a desert isle, would frantically signal a ship that she was there (can't you see her arms wildly waving?) --Come get me!!!! -- needing to escape her environs, to change her diet, to rest her bleary eyes on a different horizon, to converse with others -- not about sand and palm trees and bloated and beached marine life, not about the bleached out, frayed "fashion" she currently sports, not about the same-old same-old that the blazing sun and punishing waves have brought her (seaweed, mostly, but perhaps an occasional treasure, as well?), not even about her ability to survive in the harsh environment -- which has made her proud of her creativity and strength, yet leaves her feeling dried out and depleted. That's exactly how I feel. Well, more or less.
I'd been playing with the idea of heading north, but because the main reason for doing so would be to see my son and because he would rather study for a huge exam (go ahead, R! Don't feel guilty, you big little heartbreaker, you!) than see his mother (and rightly so, except that I'm hugely disappointed), I don't have the energy to plan an escape. Even though I could still see my brother and his family and my sister-in-law and her family and love them to death and really want to see them, somehow I don't think I can will my way forward.
So, if I stay here, down here in the Capitol of the Confederacy, will I sit and stew? Will I catch up with life outside of work? Dance more? Sleep more? Meet up with friends? Make my reservations for Mexico? Or take to the road (or to the skies) on the spur of the moment?