When I travel, I love to see a riot of colors, I love loud noises, I love quirky, I love wild, the wilder the better. So a few years ago we made this special trip to Provence, France just to see the colorful dirt of Roussillon. They used to mine the dirt to make pigments, they don't anymore, now it's just a tourist attraction. Most artists know about this place and have made the pilgrimage here to paint and to draw. It's really pretty. I'm amazed that at home I hate color, color reminds me of clamoring, of strife. The palette at home is white or very muted where color is concerned. At home I want to be left alone, no noise, no color. Home is my refuge from the clamoring of the work place. I'm a pharmacist working in mental health and sometimes at work I wonder when I'm going to seek mental health for myself.
I'm going to Morocco, it's going to be noisy, colorful and wild, my criteria for a great place to visit. Right now, just leave me alone. My bank called, I'm rude,' what do you want? I'm already paid up my mortgage a few years ahead, I don't need more services, I don't need to buy anything, the last thing I need is to spend money. I just finished doing my taxes for 2009, the amount I pay in taxes, a lot of people don't even make that much. Thoreau said, '...we plow ourselves into the dirt....' It's ok if its colorful dirt! I work hard so I can pay for trips to places with colorful dirt.
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