Not a Happy Traveler

happy-traveler

Sometime in my not so long ago, I fantasized about how cool it would be to travel. Beyond zipping cross-country a couple of times, I hadn’t seen much of the country or much of anything really and I thought, “yeah, I should travel.”

Apparently, the Universe heard me and as per the rule of Murphy, it’s hearing aide just wasn’t getting the ‘spirit’ of my wish, because though I have done a fair amount of traveling in the last couple of years it’s not exactly what I had in mind…

When I went to Seattle it was to visit my seriously injured friend, head not in a good place to be sure. The flight? Yikes, my ears just couldn’t handle the cabin pressure. Sleeping on hospital floors and children sized waterbeds…yikes again.

From there, we had our whirlwind cross-country trek to Virginia, via Texas (did you know that it’s really freeking hard to get out of Texas? I’m certain there is some sort of Bermuda triangular vortex going on there). And within this time we had the revolving door local travel of apartment to house and then back again. And I have to wonder why is it I have such a talent for choosing to move chunks of stuff when it’s raining? Then the finale was the cross-country trek back to L.A. to Zelda’s and from Zelda’s to the House from Hell and then finally home. Ah…. that was nice, well for about five minutes.

Because then it was time to go to the Cape. Delayed flights, red eyes which meant business because why did I think I could sleep in an aisle seat? To Boston, then the Cape, then all over the Cape then to the bus, back to Logan, to JFK with a 2 hour delay on the tarmac and at last back to L.A. Oh to sleep in my own bed. Noice.

But no, we’re not finished folks because not only did I travel to places, people traveled to me. Well, one person, my sister. Yup, I’m still in hotel mode because we’re nightly disassembling my bed to make it two, sharing the tiniest bathroom on the planet, which she really seems to like a lot given the amount of time she’s in there and don’t’ forget the maid service I apparently agreed to offer, with a little room service thrown in for good measure.

And now that I look back on it all, I have to wonder if I need my head examined. Why on earth did I think I wanted to travel? To live out of suitcases and eat bad food, sleep little to no and inhabit small cramped spaces for long periods of time? Nope, I have to say, I’m not a happy traveler. At least not the way I’ve been doing it. I’m afraid I’m just a homebody at heart. I like waking up in my own bed and eating the food that is in my fridge and parking myself in front of the computer or fooling around in the garden. Buying cigarettes at my favorite shop, knowing ahead of time what the price is and well, just hanging out.

So, it’s official I’m a boring homebody and not a world traveler. Who knew?

So, Universe if you’re listening, I don’t want to travel again – unless it’s first class and there are limo’s and luxury hotels involved and lots of mad money and fluffy, pure, white terrycloth robes and a daily massage involved. Okay? Got that?

How about you? Are you a happy traveler or a cranky one like me?