Come early March or late April, I've decided that I'm taking a week-long road trip. I'm not sure where my travels will take me yet, but the open road and I have been apart from one another for far too long. While I'd like to rent a car and take the trip in a proper fashion, I'll probably just get my car in tip-top travelling shape. There's been this itch in me for months now to pick up and go anywhere but here. I want to find America, or at least experience it. I want out of my skin and out of my element. I want to wake up one morning to find myself in a small town that I only barely remember pulling into the night before. I want to eat breakfast in a diner where some cute girl is waiting tables, trying to earn enough money to get out of the shithole town she grew up in because she believes that the big city might hold something for her that she can't imagine finding in a town with two gas stations and a Wal-Mart. I want to see the sparkle of hope in her eye that you rarely find in urban America. I want to find catharsis in the arms of the land I love. Look at me, already getting my hopes up for a trip that may or may not happen. Sentamentalism is my weakness.