I would love to go with you on your trip.
It’s not like I’d be able to leave anyways (tied down by certain responsibilities), but it would be nice to at least be invited.
I am at heart a homebody, so it would be hard to relax and forget about the ongoing renovations here. So much is incomplete, the hours of my days most often spent in maintenance, cleaning and reorganizing. But perhaps this time I could forget all that I seemingly need to do.
It is interesting, don’t you think, that vacation for someone is a lot of work for someone else, the ones who make it possible to leave, who help along the journey, clean rooms and serve food at the destination. The ability to vacate is thought to be brought about by the hard work of the vacatee, but I wonder if it is more so made possible by the work of others. And I, like those unknown many, do need the work.
I know I can travel to other places in my imagination and I do. I read profusely, watch travel shows, and I write. Though the lethargy of medicated depression seems to constantly weigh me down and the novels in my mind are as yet untouched and unfinished. Perhaps getting away would be the catalyst for the writer to finally break free.
I doubt it. There is always the returning from where I have been to what was before. I am already burdened by too many so-called fond memories. The thought of making new ones, of meeting new people who I will miss along with the host of others in my head and heart, is daunting.
I do crave connection.
Yet perhaps it is safer here, dear reader, amongst these lines. You have traveled to these words from your faraway land (at least that is what the WP stats tell me). I am amazed. Hello. I am so glad to have you on this flight.
Welcome to this journey. Consider this my invite.