Thursday, October 17, 2013
My Instagram has to be the most misleading photo diary ever. What seems to be a glamorous life of travel and mayhem is really just me, in cars and cabs and planes and airport lounges and foreign bathrooms. Forgetting to bring shoes but bringing two skirts, two pairs of pants and two pairs of pajama shorts for a two-night trip. Oh, and no pajama top but three sweaters and three scarves. And then wearing motorcycle boots to a gala dinner. And pajama shorts with a scarf to sleep.
There's an upside to all this, of course. Press trips are glam! And exotic! And something else that's awesome but I can't think of right now! But right now I'm sick, and by the time I reach home I will have been traveling 45 of the last 100 hours of my life. I want a shower, I want my bed, I want corgis... but most of all, I want to take 13 Zyrtecs and a litre of codeine and pass the F out, but my flight doesn't even have a gate yet. Let me check my pants... oh yes, they are cranky.
But please, continue to believe the beautiful illusion that Instagram gives. Helicopter tours and paragliders drifting past my hotel suite and food so gratuitously fancy it had to be styled like a penis. In any other state of mind, I'd be doing my best to make you jealous.