Vacations never did me any good. Not that I'm complaining but they seem to bring about a very strong need to be lethargic. The kind of need that pulls you back into bed just when you decide to do something constructive - like write. Suffice to say, I thought I wouldn't be able to put a pen to paper for the next few weeks. I guess I forgot that I owned a computer.
And just like everyone else, we remember vacations according to something important that happened (like a trip) or a whole bunch of things that we kept doing on and on for two months. This summer will probably be defined by reruns of TV shows that I never thought that I would watch, Russell Peters, Faust and trying to give my cat her medication. Which is a highly dangerous job that makes me glad that my cat has had her shots. If the bit about Faust is scaring you a little, it might be reassuring to know that I have only gotten past the first few pages - with the help of a dictionary.
My cat makes me extremely jealous. She wakes up in the morning at around 6 and stretches in five different ways even though she probably had the most comfortable spot on the bed. She saunters towards her bowl of food and digs in. After some soul-searching at the litter tray, she has to make the toughest choice of the day - will she sit around and let herself be amused by her staff or will she just creep into her corner behind the television and sleep for the rest of the day? I don't have a choice - I wake up or I will get kicked out, I make the bed or get yelled at, I clean up my room or I will get yelled at a little more because I will be facing a crankier mother.
It's a strange feeling, sitting at the computer in the afternoon and listening to the soundtrack of Juno, knowing you have absolutely nothing to do but relax. I wonder when I'll feel this way again.
