vacation... or comeuppance?

Every so often I'll catch myself doing it and groan. Kat looks at me and says, "What?" I confess that It has happened agan and she knowingly pats me on the shoulder and says, "I know." I'd like to think of myself as this dynamic, distinct individual whose voyage through life has made him a completely New sort of human being, but Then I cross my arms while I'm talking to somebody or tug at the little soul-patch under my chin and I see... my dad. I don't find my father's mannerisms to be offensive - it's the Recognition that they are now On Me. I haven't seen my father on a regular basis in nearly 8 years but they've been bubbling out of me, as naturally as breathing or growing my hair. I'm dealing with it, however. 'Things like this happen,' I tell myself, 'so you've just gotta accept it and move on.'

But, then there's this:

Everyone in my family knows that I am The City Kid. I am the family member who never liked camping or living in the country or hunting for deer or reaping the benefits of Mother Earth (gardening). I wanted to go to the movies or hang out with the neighborhood kids or see a basketball game while my parents planned week-long excursions to remote corners of Alaska for salmon fishing and hiking. From Denali National Park in Alaska to the remote campgrounds along the Okefenokee Swamp in Georgia, I've been a personal food reservoir for mosquitoes and deerflies all across this country and abroad. It wasn't enough to camp in the Great Outdoors. Oh no. It had to be done in the Remote Great Outdoors. K.O.A. campgrounds were for wimps. Hot water? Electrical hookups? Flushing toilets? Hell, you'd might as well stay in a Day's Inn and eat at the Waffle House. As I lay in my sleeping bag with rocks jabbing in my back and the persistent itch of mosquito bites on my ass from my last outhouse Debacle, I fantasized of the day when I would be the Master of my Own Destiny, when I would never again be forced to endure another second of Camping Torture. So, when Kat and I found a few days in July when we could relax from the daily grind of Work, what did we do?

We went camping... and it was... fun.

You can run, but you cannot hide, my friend.

Living in big cities has made me appreciate the beauty of silence. All those things I thought to be a tedious, cruel punishment from my parents for a hyperactive demeanor have since been twisted into perverse notion of idyllic bliss. My fantasies have flipped like a hippie-turned-neocon. I daydream of the wind through the trees instead of car alarms. I contemplate canoeing down a meandering brook in place of the choking cluster-fuck of a subway at 8 in the morning.

What have I become? Dear GOD, What Have I Become?!

...need... decadent night... on the town... now!