A wasted day. An absolutely wasted day. I hate days like this...days when I arrive at the office with every intention of being productive. But after I walk into my office and sit down in my big blue leather chair a funk settles over me. I drum my fingers on the desk and stare out the window, I groan every time the phone rings. I Google Castles in Ireland, or the cost of flying from Atlanta to Heathrow in - let's see - six months from now. Then I remember how I hate flying. How about Nova Scotia? I can actually drive all the way to Nova Scotia. What is there to see and do there? And I spend the next hour flitting from Nova Scotia to Prince Edward Island to the Great Smoky Mountains in Tennessee and up to Mackinac Island. (My mind never goes very far west, nor any more south than where I currently am).
Some time ago (well...in truth some decades ago) I was at a party in Hawaii at a friend's condo - which had a lovely view of Diamond Head. We were a group of about 8 or 9 from all over the world, drawn together because not many of us could afford to fly back home very often (or in my case ever) for years at a time. So we became family to each other, spending holidays hanging out together. All young, all hopeful, all very clever (or so we thought - things aren't always what they seem to be, alas.) One of the guys in our group was into psychology. I can't remember now if he was working on his Ph.d. or not, but as I recall he worked in the field. In any event, at this particular party "D" was listening to me expound on some thing or another. I am quite confident I droned. He was a very rapt audience, looking very intently at me (he was also rather drunk). I finished my point. Silence. Seconds passed. He continued to stare me down. Discomfort mounting, I was about to shout, "Okay - What?" when he said, "Linda, for you, analysis would be a complete waste." He took another swig of whatever he was drinking, hiccuped, and fell asleep on the floor.
I am now trying to remember why I told you this story. Oh, yes. Here it is: I never have to wonder why I feel the way I feel, or why I think the way I think, or do the things I do. I just know myself. I am not sure if that is an unusual trait. I'm so used to it, it doesn't seem at all odd to me. Maybe it is something one is born with - like being right-handed, or being able to tie a cherry stem into a knot with ones tongue, or being very very limber. (Which reminds me -most competitive swimmers are born with a ligamentous laxity in their shoulder joints, which in the rest of us might be diagnosed as Multidirectional Instability but for them makes them better swimmers. In other words, my abnormal can be someone else's normal.)
So, I do not have to ask myself why I am staring into space and thinking of castles in Ireland. I know why I can't focus properly on tasks at hand, whether it is answering my business correspondence or cleaning out the hall closet. I know myself, you see. I need a vacation. I have not had a vacation since my eldest son was in the 5th grade and we went to the mountains for a week. He will turn 30 this summer. How pathetic is that?
Well, blast and damn I've had enough! I'm fired up and I'm going to do it. And I'm not just talking about a long weekend visit with family. This year I am going on a Vacation - (note the capital "V"). A real one. I'm going to pack my bags and brush the dust off my traveling shoes and...well...just go. I might pin a map to the wall and throw a dart. I might travel by pack mule or by paddle wheel up the Mississippi. But go I shall. Blessed relaxation - with nothing to do but read and drink those little drinks with the paper umbrellas. I'll remember to take lots of pictures - maybe from the top of a pyramid.