getting old

the thing that disturbed me most was that i really didn't want to go to south america. i didn't want to go anywhere. yet, when yeamen talked about moving on, i felt the excitement anyway. i could see myself getting off a boat in martinique and ambling into town to look for a cheap hotel. i could see myself in caracas and bogota and rio, wheeling and dealing through a world i had never seen but knew i could handle because i was a champ.

but it was pure masturbation, because down in my gut i wanted nothing more than a clean bed and a bright room and something solid to call my own at least until i got tired of it. there was an awful suspicion in my mind that i'd finally gone over the hump, and the worst thing about it was that i didn't feel tragic at all, but only weary, and sort of comfortably detached.

hst
the rum diary