Visiting Albuquerque always makes me feel old. I’m surrounded by pictures of a far more fresh-faced (big-haired, full-eyebrowed) version of myself when I stay at my parents' house, and it reminds me exactly how long it has been since I lived here.
I would move back to ABQ in a second if I had the chance, but Jim would never go for it. He doesn’t seem to appreciate the charms of this city. His main gripe is the lack of skiing opportunities, but I also think the landscape is a bit desolate for his taste. Too many shades of tan and beige, and not enough green. Well, except the chili of course. Which rocks.
I’m not looking forward to the drive back to Colorado. It’s only 7 hours, but dealing with two furry passengers is more difficult when I’m traveling solo. How can two fifteen-pound dogs be so wily and demanding? In an attempt to soften the blow of the road trip, I loaded up my iPod with new music before I left and made sure I had the latest broadcasts of "This American Life." But still. There are a few insanely boring stretches that seem to drag on forever no matter how delightful the soundtrack. I can’t help but wonder "Who the hell lives here, and why?" Luckily I have something new to look forward to on the return trip: my sister-in-law provided me with the new Wilco CD, and I can’t wait to check it out. I’m such a sucker for Jeff Tweedy.
I'm also looking forward to sleeping in my own bed and eating a reasonable amount of food instead of endlessly stuffing my pie hole with all manner of unhealthy deliciousness. I have a difficult time curtailing my consumption when I am on vacation, and then I hate myself afterwards for my complete lack of self-control.
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