Hump Week Blues

This month's story is a little bit different than my usual news letter.  A little more in depth with a lot less superfluous crap.  Try it , you'll like it!
 
     Well its hump day on the is-land… as the song goes.  Or rather it feels like its hump week.  For what ever reason this week it has been nearly impossible for me to get my ass in gear.  I feel like my feet weigh a ton and naps are becoming a common occurrence.  It’s like the feeling every one of us gets while we’re at work, usually between Monday and Wednesday.  It’s the feeling you get from somewhere in the rebel side of your mind that wants to sell everything and go on the road in search of something completely implausible; to do something you never would normally do with people you would never normally associate yourselves with.  We mostly keep this rebel side where it belongs, and for good reason.  That fantasy usually leads to poverty and jail. So what to do with those hump week blues?  I believe I may have your answer…
     A few years ago I happened to do just what I wrote about.  I had no idea I’d wind up doing what I’m doing where I’m doing it.  I just quit my job, got in my van, and went for a drive.  It turned out to be a pretty long drive actually, about 3000 miles.  On one hand, being by myself, I was scared to death not knowing what was to come, but on the other hand, being by myself, I was full of life not knowing what was to come.  And that, as they say, is what living is to me.
   Now if you have those stuck in a rut, need of a change, lacking excitement, hump-week blues, your salvation is a whole hell of a lot closer than you think.  Did you know for example, that you can fly from Los Angeles to Paris and stay there for six nights and seven days for $668?  Tonight when no one’s looking, just go to expedia.com or a website like it and see what’s on sale.  Paris isn’t for you?  So what, that was just an example of what’s out there.  I guarantee you can at least pull off a sick day and get a three day weekend.  But you have to do it right.  Remember, a hundred miles from here, nobody knows you.  Trust me, after listening to people on vacation for the last eight years, you can be a doctor, spy, the drummer from Pearl Jam, or a green beret if you want to.  If you can name it you can be it.  However, a word of caution to the un-wise, should you be completely full of shit and have no idea of what you’re talking about, you could quite possibly get a severe beatin’ from someone who does! At the very least you should do a little research before you start lying.
   So where was I? Oh yeah, you’ve taken off of work (because you are so sick); now do one of two things.  You can go for a drive like I did, or go to the nearest airport and just get in a line.
   If you’re going for a drive, it’s very important that you bring absolutely no maps of any kind with you.  That’s the whole point of this entire exercise.  You’re flying by the seat of your pants remember.  (I happen to know that some of you haven’t really let go in many years).  Funny things happen to you when you’re out on some highway by yourself, particularly at night. You do a lot of thinking for one; you also begin to see people in another way.  You listen to a bunch of music and re-evaluate your existence.  The phenomenon of driving is intrinsically different than that of flying for a couple of reasons. For starters the ever changing landscape sort of mesmerizes the brain into a state of bizarre mellowness.  Towns start to look the same yet at the same time they’re always way different.  You start to identify with the truckers out there on some Montana highway at 3:30 am, flashing your lights to the truck that has just passed you to signal it’s safe to return to your lane.  You may just be in your van, but tonight in some strange way, you’re a trucker.  You bitch to yourself (in an almost loving way) about the taste of the horrendous McDonalds coffee you’re drinking that is also keeping your ass alive out there.  You feel that really weird joy of reaching a milestone that you’ve been staring at for the last 8 hours.  “Denver 600 miles...  Denver 597 miles.”  Then the halfway point. “Denver 300 miles”.  Finally you see the light of the city approaching when you read your sign.  “Denver next 8 exits”.  The coolest part?  Denver isn’t even your destination.  What is you ask?  Well that I can’t answer.  You know it when you get there.  Whether it’s Key West Florida, a race track you saw on ESPN once, a place your Dad took you fishing in New York when you were young, or just some town that happens to have the worlds largest thermometer, you’ll know it when you get there.  If you only have 3 days or $300, your adventure may be a bit more limited, but you’d be surprised what’s out there a few hundred miles from home.   
     Flying is a completely different exercise in escape altogether.   But with flying, your possibilities are endless.  With the swipe of a credit card you can turn your normal weekend in Columbus Ohio into a Mardi Gras fiesta only you will know about.  Vegas?  Casablanca? Telluride? Paris? London?  Walk into the airport and pretend you’re James Bond.   Walk in to the international terminal, pick a booth with the shortest line and buy a ticket.   If you have a week to spare (you can extend an illness with an extensive lie also: grandparent death etc.  Not funny but effective) you can just buy a bunch of one way tickets and keep going from where you happen to be.  The only downfall is worry. Worry about your job. Worry about your money.  Worry about getting back in time.  Worry about terrorists.  Worry that you may have in fact lost your damn mind.  But as Bob Marley himself once said, “Don’t worry, about a thing.  ‘Cause every little thing, is gonna be alright”. 
     Here’s the thing my friends.  When you’re by yourself, in a strange town, in a strange country, where every step you take is a step you’ve never taken, every one is your friend.  Suddenly a guy you would never talk to at work becomes a refreshing conversation.  You’d be surprised at how a man (or a woman for that matter) loses every ounce of bigotry, bias, and predetermined dispositions when he’s by himself in a new place.   Remember the first day of first grade.  I’m sure if you were like most people, your mom had to basically throw your ass onto that school bus kicking and screaming.  It was terrifying.  But I’ll bet you met a whole bunch of friends (or more importantly, one really good one) that first day.  Hell, you might even still talk to that best friend today.  Agree with me or not, one thing I do know is that every one of you reading this right now has at least one person in mind.  In my opinion, that’s what we lose as adults.  We lose that silly sense of wonder, awe and curiosity we had as children.  Adult life sometimes makes us forget that.  This article started out somewhere different from where it ended, I know.  But so does each of our lives.  It’s why I write songs and stories.  Everything starts out different from where it begins.  Three days.  That is all it takes for a memory.  Still have those hump-week blues?  Time’s a wastin’…   Erik
 
(If by any chance you take me up on my challenge, I’d love to hear about it. Send me a story thewhaleshark@yahoo.com of your personal end to the hump-week blues and I’ll publish it on the site.  Winner gets a prize.  But really, how can you not be a winner either way?)