Leaving on a Jetplane

So, the travel bug has bitten me hard. Once again, I will shove all of my worldly belongings into a bag slightly bigger than what I take with me to the gym. I will be living with strangers, some of which will have sex in the bunk above me, others will walk around in the nude at one in the afternoon and speak with such thick accents, that I have no clue what the hell they are trying to say. I will eat strange food, some good, some bad, but in any case, memorable. I will drink too much, swear off alcohol, and proceed to get drunk off of my face the next day. I will have flings, most likely an Australian. I will butcher the Spanish language, but people will understand what I am saying. I will have something stolen/lose something important, it will make a good story later. I will go off the beaten track; fuck museums and churches. I will get on the wrong train, and end up in the middle of the countryside, with no clue where I am. I will dance until the wee hours of the morning. I will see friends I haven’t seen in months, and make new ones. I will cry, I will laugh, I will swear, curse, and scream at every imaginable deity. I will have the time of my life.