I am feeling restless these days, like I have to get out of here for a while.

It's the lighter schedule, I think. It's all of these hours in a day that I used to be at work that I'm...well, I'm just not at work.

But really, when have I ever needed an excuse to board an airplane? Have I ever?

That, I guess, isn't entirely apropos. An excuse I always need, but it's a reason that never seems to materialize. Last time I boarded an airplane it was because...because why the fuck not? I had spent the winter cold, broke, skinny, and crying. I felt the need to return to my hometown triumphant and with lined pockets, new tattoos and fifteen hard-earned pounds about my frame. And so I triumphantly jumped right in my ex's bed. Oh, so triumphantly.

But now I'm tired of all the streets I've already tread. Again.

In two weeks I'm taking a short jaunt to Toronto, with a possible stint in Montreal (with Meg, guys--this isn't an installment of Exes in the Inbox) and I'm hoping against hope that this trip will quell this thick desire to go really, really far away for a long, long time. I'll tell you right now that it's not going away.

But that's how childhood dreams work, don't they? They stick with you, to the insides of your ribs and they consume your desires until they're satiated. If you're like me then you've year after year put this dream aside or let someone steal it from you.

Here's what I'm avoiding telling you.

I'm telling you that my contract ends in November and rather than winter in New York I'd like to spend my lazy days of unemployment on a continent where November marks the beginning of summer. I would like to do this because I've wanted to go since I was a small child and learned about continents and Haley's Comet and kangaroos. I would like to do this because I should already be home from this--but I've purged all of those things that kept me stateside and I want this to be part of the fucking gain. 

I want to gain the shit out of this dream.

That seems reason enough to me.

Stay tuned.

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