Pity Party Postponed

       I think some people worried when I mentioned I was moving to Laos. Let me drive that worry away once and for all, or momentarily, depending on how prone you are to anxiety. I'd like to debunk the idea that I may be washing my clothes in the Mekong River or bartering for food.

       I woke up this morning and ate a chocolate croissant. Then I read through underlined, beloved segments of my favorite book, Nomad's Hotel. It is the only book I have ever marked up with a pencil. I bought it at my favorite book store in New York City, and it is the sole book that has made the cut each and every time I've gone somewhere for an extended period of time. It has traveled in my suitcase to the Czech Republic, Scotland, Italy, and now Laos. In it, I find old postcards, playbills and ticket stubs that bring me back to Venice or Prague when they were used as bookmarks. Every time I read it, a different thought speaks to me depending on where I am at the time or what has happened in my life since the last time I read it. When the pencil marks start to wear off, I read through and darken them again. It provides a connecting link between my destinations. 

       After reading and pondering over literature, I got an hour long foot massage for six dollars. Then I drank a banana frappe. And that's Thursday.