My Happy Place

Generally speaking, I am a very sociable person. I like hanging out with my friends and as far as I'm concerned, the more the merrier.  I like big parties.  I also like being the center of attention at said parties because I'm an attention whore.

But there are times... times like now... when my happy place looks like this: 

It's a ramshackle cabin.  It's nice on the inside, because I don't want to live in a dump, but from the outside, it looks very uninviting.  Like, Last House on the Left uninviting.   It sits on the edge of a dark and scary forest.  There is a sign on the outside warning of land mines, volatile indigenous wildlife, and mentally unstable landowners with large, probably illegal automatic weapons.  It sits on the inhospitable side of a large ravine with a rickety bridge as the only means of crossing.  The ravine, if I have my druthers, is named something like, "Never Found the Body Ravine" or "Only One In Twenty Makes It Ravine" or "Did You Win the Not Dying A Screaming Death Lottery Today, Because If Not I Wouldn't Try It Ravine." 

There is a river below.   A big, deep, terrifying one that was, preferably, featured on the show "River Monsters."  I'm flexible on whether or not there are actually river monsters in the river, but if there are, I would like them to be large and visible and kind of prehistoric looking.  And obviously aggressive.  If I can, I will arrange for a troll under the bridge that pops up and demands a completely unreasonable toll like Hitler's mustache hair, or a feather from a velociraptor (not that kind of velociraptor, the other kind... ) or the vas deferens from the ball sack of a leprechaun or something.

In my happy place, Klingon cloaking technology is readily available, and I will have that available to me as a last resort. 

The point is, no one can get to me.  No one can reach me.  I have my Kindle, my laptop to write on (but not access the internet) and a large stash of coffee and beer.

And that's it.