It has always been interesting to me how differently I react to monotony.
On some days I love the certainty of my schedule - the routine is comforting. I can depend on certain things to happen at certain times, I can plan ahead, I can define my time in neat categories.
On other days I just want to walk out of work, get in my car, and drive in some direction for an indeterminite time, camp in the back seat and keep going. I want to go out to random seedy bars and make friends, I want to walk aroudn a library, I want to just GO. Anywhere. Somewhere else. I want to be spontaneous and fun and random.
There is always something to be said for the familiarity of home, and the calm assurance that rent is paid and we won't lose power, and when winter comes we'll have heat. I like knowing that I won't starve, and I won't die from some horrible disease, that I will have my medical needs seen to, as well as any other bill I have to pay.
But how satisfying would it be to take those bills, take them out back and burn them? Ditch the cellphone in the dumpster, cancel facebook and blogger and all those other sites, pack a backpack with extra socks and undies and a shit ton of quarters, a spare notebook and your life savings? HOw great would it be if I stopped outside your house like that, patted the passenger seat and said, "Take off the next week of work, we're going adventuring."?
It would be pretty good, right?
Well. Back to work then. I think I'm going to be sick.