Specifically, vacation jealousy. I do not covet your home, your husband, your handbag wardrobe–just your vacation. I do vacation, but certainly not as often as I like and typically not in the summer (I do have a vacation booked for November). Summer in my household is car racing season, and my husband (club racer) spends every weekend that he can trailering up and down rt. 95 to a variety of tracks–which, in my estimation, does not resemble a vacation in any way. And that’s okay–I will gladly skip the hot and crowed highway, not to mention the steaming, screaming race track, for the beauty and peace of a solitary staycation.

But then the facebook pictures start pouring in. England, Italy, Norway, the desert Southwest, and I am ripe with green and insidious envy. So many beautiful, interesting places, so many happy, smiling, faces, so many people in Maine. What is up with Maine? If I’ve seen one shot of a Maine harbor, I’ve seen them all. I was there once, lovely, crunchy, lobstery–a long way from Maryland and for what? You can’t even go in the water!  But all the facebook faces are there, or in Paris, Vancouver, wherever, and I am not.

If I had an income I would certainly travel a lot more, with or without a husband or girlfriend. I’ve got lots of spots picked out and lots I want to see. But until you all buy my book, I’m vacationing vicariously on my computer, no sun screen necessary.


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