Another Trip

We're going to a beach resort tomorrow. Truth be told, I'd much rather stay home and sleep for two days straight. I've even wished to be sick, or to collapse, or something—just to have a legitimate excuse to be left behind.

In an attempt to entice me with this getaway, my sister humorously suggested that if I find a handsome guy there, I should “lock him in.”

Yeah. Like I have the courage to approach and flirt with a handsome stranger in real life.

Still, despite the rebellion brewing inside me, there’s something about going out and dressing up that does lift my spirits—if only slightly. Staying holed up in solitude and mundanity for too long makes me feel awfully ugly. Dull face. Dull hair. Dull clothes. At least with this trip, I’m forced to fix my appearance and awaken my vanity.

But just like last time, I’m not excited. At all. Looking attractive and feeling pretty sounds nice, but I’d really rather idle, rot in bed, and be ugly in peace.

The car ride is three hours long. If sleep doesn’t claim me, I’ll likely spend that time staring out the window, brooding, daydreaming, and letting the world blur past to the soundtrack of whatever music I drown myself in. In the soft hum of escape and detachment, there’s a quiet comfort in that, at least.

Sigh. Where’s my zest for life?