I attempted to total the number of business travelling weeks that had overwhelmed me last year and I have to sheepishly admit that it was a mere 38%, although it did seem much more but then I had forgotten to include the numerous leisure trips I'd taken in the same breadth of time.
It is hard not to admit that I enjoy travelling, even when I could have spent half of my 2-week annual leave spring-cleaning my sty-ish (note the missing 'l') room in anticipation of Chinese New Year and catching up with life back home. Instead, I chose to countdown the New Year in Hanoi and subsequently to trawl Phuket for some shopping, eating and spa-ing.
My parents have stopped questioning the numerous jaunts to and from the airport like they used to ("Who? When? Why? What?" has been reduced to "Where? When are you coming back?"). I've lost touch with so many people and the updates on their lives that it's going to be an uphill task trying to seek their forgiveness for my unavoidable nonchalence. Sometimes, I prefer curling up in bed with a really trashy gossip rag or napping than to pick up the phone to establish some human contact.
I've figured that choosing to accept one more year of travelling on the pretext of work and pleasure is possibly an extension of my reluctance to face the reality of life. Just for one more year.
Need Prozac? Carry on reading for an alternative cure.
I've Been..
Satisfying the wanderlust fascination.
Slacking.
Sleeping.
Shopping (wayyyyyyyyyyy too much).
Reading NW, Famous and 8 Days voraciously.
Chillin' with a pint of good beer or latte.
Indulging in purposeful conversation.
Otherwise, I'm happy for you to leave me alone.