Homebody

I put some pictures up in my cube today. I've been meaning to do it for months, and now that I have, the funny thing is that they are almost distracting. All day, as I sorted through spreadsheets and emails, I could see them out of the corner of my eye. So I would turn. And look. And smile. And think things like: Man, my parents are awesome. Don't the three of us look great in that graduation picture? And since it's a close up you can't even see my feet, and the fact that instead of my sexy sling-back heels, I'm wearing Adidas sandals. Or: That's such a great picture of me and my brother. I love his Farrah Fawcett hair, and I love even more that when I told him that, he asked hopefully, "Is that a rock star?" What a great night that was, listening to Elton John in the boat on our way around Lake Stevens.

These moments of photograph gazing reminded me of something from my internship. One of the walls in one of the buildings was covered in beautiful resort-type pictures. Beaches, sunsets, the kind of perfection you see in calendars or brochures. There was a little sign on the wall that read, "Take a 30 second vacation." Except those pictures didn't really do anything for me. And this, my friends, is why I am a homebody. Not because I have no desire to visit far-away places, but because when it comes down to choosing where to spend my vacations, I will always choose home. Some people might consider me boring and unfortunate, but I've always just considered myself lucky.