I feel them trying to stifle me, the hands of corporate America on my shoulders. Maybe Im crazy, perhaps my feelings are as old as time. I can imagine cro-magnon man reluctantly waking up with the dawn, cursing the great lizard that swallows the sun at night and then poops it out again the next morning. Im sitting here staring at 361 unread emails, and contemplating pouring my coffee into the top of the monitor.
I think about the wind ripping joyfully over the top of the mountain, as the ones I love and me sit with legs dangling, my heart bursting with the beauty that surrounds me. I want to drink the cool air and feel alive again.
In plain english, Im back from the best vacation of my life and feeling a tad sorry for myself.
As painful as it may be to come back to the real world, I know that life isnt meant to be a permanent vacation. Without 361 emails and screaming malcontents at work, how could I ever appreciate the sublime beauty of those mountain getaways.
