The Travel Channel is my pornography.

If I have an hour or two to allow myself to relax, I know I can count on The Travel Channel to take me away to the ends of the earth, if not literally, then at least mentally. I can see the tribulations of folks who go househunting… in Tel Aviv, Israel. I can enjoy a pictaresque view of the Carribbean Ocean and get a good idea of what happens after you eat the sex organ of a giant sea snail. I am glad to have this interruption in my hectic day; it somehow keeps me inspired.

I'd rather stay busy most of the time to keep my mind off what's eating at it. Admittedly, I have the kind of daydreams that most people couldn't achieve in REM cycle sleep. There is part of my mind that will never shut down and that is the part that says, "What if?"

What if I chose to do what I love instead of doing what I only like for a living? Can I manage to see the world, firsthand, somehow? What if I wrote a travel blog? What if I was on production for a show for the travel channel, and I could get paid to do all these things?

What if I could see the world with the man I love? What if we had disposable income to travel whenever we want…and come back to our amazing home when we missed it? I don't know how I'd fare as a full-time traveler, because I honestly get homesick . I get tired of sleeping in rooms where I can feel the presence of past occupants, I can only live out of a suitcase for so long. I miss my bathroom after seeing so many less-than-desirable ones. I am the type of person who can take 6-8 vacations a year because I love them for what they are: a half-rest in the concerto of life, and a time-out for a sip of mental gatorade. A temporary reprieve from the things I know will always be there to annoy me, no matter how patient I try to be with them…like the coworker I just can't see eye to eye with or my difficult relationship with my mother.

I love going on vacation. There are certain people I will not travel with because they don't mesh with my vacation mantra: now, now, now. Now, enjoy a $15 cocktail because it's on the menu. Now, sit under a tree and do nothing because it's on a different corner. Now, breathe sea salty air while the sun glows upon me, warming every cell in my face, my arms, and then, my entire body.

Now, not last week, not the 19th of next month at 7:15 in the morning. Now, damnit. Now is the time for me to eat, breathe, and sleep, and do them exceptionally because I barely remember to do enough of things on an average day. If I took a vacation every two months, I would remember how good sleep is, preferably on 800 thread count sheets and a deluxe King sized pillowtop mattress, but even when it's on my subpar mattress with broken springs from being moved up and down too many flights of stairs, it can be just as satisfying if you.

What If I took enough vacations, maybe I'd be able to eat all day and not gain weight because my metabolism would just learn to deal with it eventually. It sounds crazy but this is actually a solid theory. Five small meals a day, drink plenty of water, and you're golden.

What if I could semi-regularly sit somewhere and breathe in air that smells different, feels different; taking hold of my senses in ways I can tap into when I'm back breathing Detroit air? Remembering to breathe is harder than it sounds, and not because of excessive smog or the road sludge of winter that stings your nostrils. I know what you're thinking. Doesn't the salt from the iced over roads produce the same effect as sea salt on the respiratory system? Absolutely not, and it does nothing for the palate either.

All of this fantasy and all of this reality. It would be a good idea for me to get back to my final papers now.


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