7 Years, 2 Months

I have a running joke. Whenever I do something and somebody says it was unexpected, or that they thought I wouldn't do that or something like that, I mention that it's something that happens every 7 years and 2 months. I don't know where I got that interval, but it's nicely odd.

There's something else that happens to me though, on a much more frequent interval. It's disruptive, aggravating, and I'm fairly certain it's detrimental to my personality. I get restless.

I don't mean "Let's go for a drive in the country" restless, I mean "I'd like to move halfway across the country and acquire a new set of friends" restless. I mean "I wonder what the weather in Dublin is like this time of year" restless. I mean "I wish aliens would kidnap me, THAT would be one hell of an adventure!" restless. And then when I don't act on it I get unhappy and punchy and moody and start pushing people away.

Someday I'll probably meet some nice young lady and we'll decide in a moment of absinthe-fueled passion and fury to start a family and then we'll probably not move after that, and I'll have to get my kicks by being a weekend warrior. It might be nice, someday, tucking mountains under my belt, running with the bulls in Spain, jumping out of airplanes and such, but for now, I don't have the money to be a weekend warrior, so I don't have much of an outlet.

I want to go to Boston. That's the adventure stuck in my head now. I want to go live there for a few months and see how it, I guess. Meet some people, have fun in a famous and historic city. I want to buy a motorcycle and ride out to the east coast and just dick around there for a little while, see how it is.

But that's dumb, isn't it?

TRH