As a little kid, I wanted to be a hermit or a mountain man like Jeremiah Johnson. When I was a teenager, I wanted to be an auto mechanic. My mother was having none of that, so you can guess how that went.
I used to be an Architect. Technically I am still. What I am, and what I actually do are two completely separate things. Now I go to meetings about architecture, write agendas and meeting minutes, write and respond to email, oy gevault the email, ride in planes and taxi cabs, have the life force sucked out of me in conference rooms and hotel rooms, and spend my life waiting in airports. Glamorous, no?
I hate my commute on the few days I'm actually home, yet find myself wanting to move further out* to some acreage with a double wide surrounded by a massive wood deck and trellis over head.
Some place I can take my 9mm out back and pop off a few rounds, or even throw a few clay pigeons.
My inner hermit calls to me. As busy as I've been my whole working life, I always considered it a myth, but I think my midlife crisis might have finally arrived.
*I think I may need a much, much faster car, considering the longer commute..and while I'm at it, a really big earth fucking truck too, considering I'll be "farther out".
No, wait, a Star Trek transporter mounted in the front of my earth fucking truck so I can transport the dipshits in front of me behind me in rush hour traffic. I apologize in advance for melding your Prius with the Chevy Volt that was between us moments ago. I'm still trying to get the hang of this transporter thingy.