billybillybilly

Once again:

So...

By the time you read this I'll be either leaving here, on my way there, or arriving. Not any place I want to be. Just not here. And I'll be gone for a while. I need some love right now.

And I want to make this journal entry worth it for you. I want you to understand that I think being here beats being a lot of other places. Like home. Where I'm going. I don't want to be there. I want to stay inside, locked away from sunlight.

The good part of all of this is that I'll get to stretch. Take night time trips to places that are too beautiful for photography. I'll see people who give me the few remaining reasons why I go home. I'll see people who give me the best reasons to not want to go back. That feature in and of itself makes this whole trip worth it. I might even walk out with money in my pocket. Which would be more than worth it.

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Look at the time I posted this.

Now add two hours.

Now add five hours.

Look at your answer. That number is within half an hour of when I'll have arrived, in my time zone.

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Look at the date I posted this.

Now add five days.

Look at the time again. Now add two hours. Now add two more hours.

Now add five hours.

This is the date and time within an hour (or several) of when I'll be seeing the comment(s) you left for me. You owe me nothing, but I would love to have heard from you. Leave anything. Something shiny. I promise I'll try to return the favor.

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This journal entry is just screaming "love me!!!". Sorry about that. I'm just dreading this. Like the way you dread a dental appointment. You know it's entirely necessary, but not a thing in the world can make you WANT to go. Tubes and cartridges and buckets and containers and bottles and feet and yards and time spent in front of mirrors and hundreds of gallons of water and used up tools of oral care/cleaning products later and you still get drilled. That's what going home is like. That's what I hate about it, and what I can't live without. Inevitability.

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I didn't promise you this would be a long one did I? Well, I probably should have.

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Last one, don't fade on me now!

Concluding, I love you all in ways I hope I'll never be accused of.

You're the bee's knees, and my socks are off to you. Have way too much fun while I'm gone, and when I get back, tell me all about it. This is the art of vicarious living. I am mastering it. This is voyeurism at its finest. But I am proud of you.