The whole job hunting thing has gotten me mildly depressed. It's the rejection. It's so subversive. I always feel like saying, "Look, I'm a mother and a stepmother. I'm the child of alcoholic parents. I'm six two and weigh 300 pounds. And yet I've managed to carve out a life that is as full of blissful moments as any Fortune 500 Executive. If I can do this, I'm sure I can do you piddly little job."

That probably wouldn't go over very well, though, huh?

The other day I got the urge for a road trip. Not a sprint up to Flint for the afternoon trip, but an honest to goodness week long excursion. And I want to go alone.

I love traveling alone. My oldest, dearest friends used to move frequently and I so enjoyed hopping in the car to run the roads and visit them. There's nothing like hours alone in the car with the radio/CD/tape to keep me company. It's like instant therapy. While I'm behind the wheel, I can be anyone. Have anyone's life. I am responsible for only myself.

One of my favorite things about my current career path is that it has afforded me the ability to travel on the company dime. One of my favorite experiences was spending a week at the Plamer House Hilton in Chicago. Talk about your gorgeous old-school hotel! Sumptuous to say the least. Then there was the week I spent in San Diego for a convention. The convention sucked but was held at a resort that backed up against the coolest mall and the train that would take me anywhere I wanted to go.

It's been a few years since I've had the opportunity to run away alone. I'm feeling the need to stretch.

Or maybe I just want to run away.