For years, I’ve suppressed it, denied it, refused to acknowledge it, and it’s my own fault now.
Two weeks ago, I drove to Scottsdale, Arizona. Last week, I drove to Chicago. This week, I’m itching to hit the road again, and see more, but I want more, I want red rock, and open plain, and mountains… I want more scenery than the heartland of America can give me here in the St. Louis-metro area.
I’m sorry. My sins are egregious: whatever I do in recycling is negated when I put pedal to metal and send the Silver Streak hurtling down an Interstate highway. Mea culpa.
But it’s true: Thirty-five hundred miles to Arizona and back over a weekend left me more energized and vibrant than a weekend of lazy napping.
Oh, help me, I have it bad.