Geez, I must really need a vacation. I'm having the nomadic urges again. You know, the ones where certain rebellious parts of my mind are trying to convince me that I really could chuck everything, sell the house and the truck and give my cats to my mother and buy a little Winnebago and go out west to the desert so I can spend twelve hours a day writing. That I can get temporary jobs and live on Campbell's soup and Diet Coke and Cheetos. I can read Tarot cards and dice and play weird old woman at the ren faires. I could do temp desktop publishing work or get a job at a national park.

Nevermind that I've never lived that way in my life. It seems like a pretty sweet deal right now. Hell, I've never been any further west than Nashville. Just that it's flat, empty, and at night you can see down to about 5th magnitude stars with the naked eye and twice that with binoculars or my little bitty scope. Months and months of quietness and no one bugging me and no stress. I could get things done.

Oh well. It's a nice idea.

I seriously need a vacation.