I just bought a plane ticket to San Francisco.

I said a few weeks ago that I wouldn’t go, so what changed? First, the travel restrictions aren’t going to be as strict as previously rumored. They are stricter than they are right now — I still have a limit on how much I can spend while out of the country, and the limit now depends on the destination and length of stay; the government will monitor how much I spend and how, and I imagine I’ll be audited when I return; and I have to file the agonizing application to use foreign currency every time I travel, among other things. I’m still not free to travel whenever, wherever, and for as long I want, but at least it’s still possible to leave the country for a few days.

Second, I saw the RSVP list. Ange? Sniffy?! When am I going to get another chance to meet so many of you? I can’t pass it up, I’m not that stupid.

Third, I made the stupid mistake of looking at the hotel, and the Google Street View of where it’s located. I’ve always wanted to go to San Francisco. I’m going. Period.

And finally, although this represents a sizable chunk of my savings and after I’m back I’ll practically be broke, you know what? I don’t care. If I can’t spend my money on things that fulfill me, that help me cope with the constant unhappiness, hopelessness and ennui of my life, and that give me something to look forward to, then what the fuck am I busting my ass at work for? If eating burritos with Bailey means that I’ll have to eat ramen the rest of the year, then fuck it, so be it.

See you guys in January.