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Jan. 29th, 2008 11:22 pmUm, I'm going to Miami.
Soon. In less than a month. February 22-26, to be exact. I committed an hour ago.
I'm a little freaked out right this second with buyer's remorse, because even though my plane ticket was cheap, I'm looking at possible hotels and worrying about money. But then I think about walking home tonight from the train and how icy and howling it was, while snow swirled around in rather painful ways (and I don't generally think myself a lightweight about the cold). And then I think about how for those four days I'm going to wear my sunglasses nonstop and it will be sunny but not hot, and I will do nothing but walk around, lay around, jog around, and drink around the ocean. And it will all be okay.
I've just been hemming and hawing and saying and thinking and I knew I had to just commit, do it, point to the calender and buy a ticket, otherwise it would be April and my ass would still be in Chicago. I promised myself a winter vacation, to reward myself for finishing the draft of my novel (which, uh, I should get on that -- but now I have a deadline!), for surviving winter, and the holidays, and depression and all that. I'll figure the rest of it out, even if it means five days of granola bars and free continental breakfasts as my only sustenance.
ETA: Hey, there are hostels for $25 a night. Maybe I'll spring for a luxury room in a real hotel one night, and dorm it the rest.
Soon. In less than a month. February 22-26, to be exact. I committed an hour ago.
I'm a little freaked out right this second with buyer's remorse, because even though my plane ticket was cheap, I'm looking at possible hotels and worrying about money. But then I think about walking home tonight from the train and how icy and howling it was, while snow swirled around in rather painful ways (and I don't generally think myself a lightweight about the cold). And then I think about how for those four days I'm going to wear my sunglasses nonstop and it will be sunny but not hot, and I will do nothing but walk around, lay around, jog around, and drink around the ocean. And it will all be okay.
I've just been hemming and hawing and saying and thinking and I knew I had to just commit, do it, point to the calender and buy a ticket, otherwise it would be April and my ass would still be in Chicago. I promised myself a winter vacation, to reward myself for finishing the draft of my novel (which, uh, I should get on that -- but now I have a deadline!), for surviving winter, and the holidays, and depression and all that. I'll figure the rest of it out, even if it means five days of granola bars and free continental breakfasts as my only sustenance.
ETA: Hey, there are hostels for $25 a night. Maybe I'll spring for a luxury room in a real hotel one night, and dorm it the rest.
