I Want to Get Away

Do you ever just get the urge to fly away? I’ve had it so bad lately; just the thought of a vacation brings tears to my eyes. I don’t care where I go, or how I get there, as long as I travel alone.  I just long to pack up a suitcase and go, to end up somewhere nice, anywhere other than trapped inside these four walls with the stress that has filled up this place.

I want a luxury hotel, with king-sized bed just for me, fitted with crisp white cotton sheets and a dozen pillows I’ll use to build my nest. I want room service, with its outrageous prices and little silver dome-covered gourmet fare, and a checklist of what I want for breakfast the next day and what time they should bring it.

I want a stack of magazines, and a book or two, and a hundred channels on the TV and complete command of the remote control. And when I’m tired of HGTV and the Style Network, I want to turn it off and experience silence, nothing but the sweet quiet of being alone.

I want a plush robe and slippers, and a view outside my window. It doesn’t matter if it’s a city scene or a placid beach or a foggy bridge-crossed bay, but I want something pretty to look at. And I want thick, heavy, light-blocking curtains to close when I no longer wish to see it.

I want to sleep at odd hours of the day and night, fill up an entire day with naps broken only by the consumption of food and the taking of long, steamy showers or bubbly hot baths. I want a masseuse to come to my room and rub these knots out of my neck and my back, to let magic fingers release all the tension I carry, and then POOF! It would be gone.

It isn’t that my life is horrible, or that anyone I live with is making me crazy. I can’t delve into details on the source of my stress because I don’t know who all reads this blog, and on one issue in particular, I am sworn to secrecy for the time being. It’s a heavy load to carry, but OH! If I could just get away, for just a while, surely that would bring back my smile.