I recently just got back from Colombia and I’m disappointed. So I’m not going to go through the trouble of recapping every single day like normal and I’ll tell you why I left disappointed. It’s two or three reasons honestly.
When I first visited Los Angeles, I was fresh out of college. It was a quick turn around trip for a job interview for the Beverly Hills Police Department. I stayed with a college friend named Velvet for the weekend. Outside of the excitement of the possibility that I might get to live in California, I was more excited to be there and see everything that I ever saw on TV growing up. She filled my head up with an A+ itinerary of things she would personally take me to see. Looking back, I don’t recall seeing anything worth seeing on that whole trip with the exception of Skid Row and the Staples Center. And I saw that to and from the airport. On my last day, we rode one train, took two buses to walk to a bus stop and stand there for thirty minutes waiting for the Santa Monica bus to pull up. As soon as it pulled up she changed her mind about going to the beach but instead wanting to go to some club. I blocked her number on the way to the airport.
Sometimes when I go on vacation I feel as though if I don’t do certain things that I’m wasting my money. When I woke up the second day with movies on my schedule but still drowsy from that pill I took, I felt like a complete failure. A lot of times I push myself out of the hotel bed for the sake of having things to blog about but this day I did not want to move, eat, blink, or breathe. I just wanted to sleep. I laid in the bed all day trying to convince myself it was okay to not go outside. I was so riddled with guilt.
Do I say I hate flying a lot? If I don’t, let me say it again. I absolutely hate flying. Typically, a couple days before my flight, I start seeing things about planes crashing, emergency landings, and of course, the American trends of mass murder. My anxiety blows through the roof as soon as I check my bag.
As soon as I sat down in my seat, I took a pill to calm my plane crashing meltdown and that was the worst decision that I made. 1. I took the whole pill. 2. By the time the plane started taking off, I had calmed myself down. I was moments into a movie before my head flew down in front of me and I was out for the count.
I spent months researching Cuba. I spent countless hours reading out how poor the country was. I even packed a roll of toilet paper and a first aid kit just so I would not die of first world problems. I was terrified more than excited. I felt like the beginning of Taken, trapped under the bed, trying to describe my captor. I didn’t think I would make it.