The main problem with being an archaeologist, as I see it, is that your co-workers don't leave for higher-paying jobs at huge pharmaceutical companies. They leave for Sudan. And as spring springs and your fancy turns to skipping merrily through the Mexican poppies, preferably naked, their wanderlust suddenly sparks your wanderlust and now you inexplicably wish you could go to Sudan too, and why are you still here sitting behind a desk in a windowless office anyway when you could be running from various rebel groups and swatting at flies the size of dinner plates?
I am actually looking at lovely cactus blooms out my back window, listening to strange scuffling, gravelly noises that indicate Lila is up to something I don't want to know about, having a cup (or eight) of Old Bisbee Roasters' Cafe Lavado Depilto from Nicaragua, and thinking...why exactly am I not IN Nicaragua?
Damn you, Wanderlust, you lusty siren! I'm simply too responsible to go off exploring in Nicaragua. I simply have too many bills. Too much casita. And the dog obviously needs chaperoning. But, what if I could just up and leave? What if I were brave enough? Or rich enough? Or unfettered enough? Or whatever it is exactly that I would have to be?