seriously?

So on Christmas Eve, breaking all familial conversation topic taboos, I launch into conversations about Money. There we are, in our living room, the Christmas tree lights are on, Pat's mom and dad are sprawled out on the couch, and I have my laptop, checking e-mail. (Please don't ask me why. All the sugar I consumed caused short-term memory loss.) Right then, I started losing it about how tough it is TO GET PAID when you're a freelance writer. I was also going on and on about how I've got this writing life down. The constant angst? Check! The self doubt and loathing? Check! The pained, torturous internal debates on who to pitch, what to pitch, how to pitch? Check!

Oh, wait, I said. I have everything down except the drug and alcohol abuse. But there are 362 days left in 2008! Don't give up yet! Everyone laughed. Then, Pat, who sat quietly in our living room listening to the millionth time about how all of this, offered this: "That's why I want to move to Argentina."

Seriously? Really? What should I pack?

I should say this is not 100 percent out of the blue. He's been talking of leaving for a while. First it was to New York. Then Portland. And apparently that's just not far enough, so Buenos Aires is now the location of choice. This is not helping, particularly the witticisms and beautiful photos. Apparently he spent a lot of time reading about Buenos Aires today since it reached a whopping 10 degrees in the sun today. It sounds better and better, and who needs to know Spanish beforehand? I can mime the universal cupped hand to mouth with the best of them until my tongue and mind adjusts. How much does coffee cost there?