VertiGoing, Going, Gone

Photo: Two of my favorite hobbies--tennis and vertigo.

Any time I am uncomfortable in my own skin (pretty much always), I envision the shiny, happy future I could be having somewhere else in the world.

The Esq and I have talked about moving to twenty different places in the world, because talk is harmless. It's fun to think about, namely because everyday challenges--rent, relationships, work, weight--seem almost quaint when you stick a Bavarian village behind them. I visualize the peace I might have, living on a lake in Norway, or a villa in Spain; forget that I can't afford these things, just imagine how peaceful I might look. Pictured here is a tennis court in Dubai, which is really fucking high off the ground, and attached to a hotel that is equally frightening. I don't think I'd want to play tennis there, but I wouldn't mind being a spectator. I don't love tennis, but I do love fear.

I think I might be one of those Americans, though, the kind that makes other Americans cringe; I wouldn't learn the language, and I'd probably seek out the only McDonald's in the entire country (even in India). But I certainly wouldn't be all East coast about it--being from the West coast, I assume everyone from That Coast is too direct, somewhat rude, fairly entitled, and crappy. Like me, only from the wrong part of the country. Those from the Midwest don't count, since I don't know anyone from there that would take a trip to Europe. There has to be some, but I don't know them. The Midwesterners I know personally (besides my ex-husband) all enjoy high-waisted jeans, porcelain angels, Jesus, and beef. All good things to enjoy, I might add. Just not in Europe.