Yeah, that title is just about right. I just had eight days off and all I did was get caught up on my episodes of Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives. Oh, and there was a Firefly marathon today on the Science Channel. Other than that, I stayed up until four reading Cracked.com and playing Angry Birds. It was an immensely shameful waste of eight days of my life. And today I was so exhausted from doing nothing, I dozed on the sofa around suppertime.
Generally, I take vacations because I simply have to get away from work. I get to a point where I’m dreaming of work, upset about every little thing that happens at work (and while I wouldn’t say my job is stress-free, most of my stress is self-imposed), and wake at five in the morning even on days I don’t have to work until two in the afternoon. I simply get to a point where I have to be in control of my own time or I will go stark raving mad.
The problem comes when I get to be in control of my own time. I do nothing. I drag myself out of bed at ten (or eleven, or noon, and once, one), turn on the computer and see what has happened in the world since three am the night before, bring a bowl of cereal back into bed, and perhaps drag myself into the shower by two. After the taxing work of showering and dressing, I plop in my chair and rest, watching Ina Garten, or Giada, or if it’s much later, whoever the heck is on after Rachel Ray. It doesn’t actually matter.
I may wrangle an actual meal sometime during this point. I’m good at making breakfast, pancakes or eggs. I think I may have boiled some eggs last weekend and had egg salad. I thought about doing more but, while I love to WATCH cooking shows, I don’t generally cook. I’ll bake sometimes, Christmas cookies or banana bread or something, but that’s about it.
Then I watch television until Jeopardy is on, and flip between that and the Simpsons. And then soon, it’s prime time, and all the new shows are on. By then it’s also dark, and if I’ve opened the shades, I at least got to see a little sunshine. Which reminds me, I ought to start taking my vitamins again.
The point being, that once it’s dark, I figure the day is over and I don’t do anything constructive then either. Sometimes this is not the case. I like to clean the kitchen around nine or ten, load the dishwasher, things like that. Even take out the garbage, which is my least favorite chore ever. Seriously, I should not utterly loathe something that takes less than five minutes to accomplish once a week. It’s stupid. I don’t even have a reason for hating it. I’m just too lazy to walk to the side of the parking lot with the dumpsters. (This from someone who once dragged an entire couch out the front door, all around the building, and back to the dumpsters by herself.)
Jeez, I really, really need to start taking my vitamins again.
To be fair to myself, I laid around entirely the first two days this week, then at some point, I did make it to the craft store (more about that later) and went to the Neville Public Museum in Green Bay with my mom to see the Anne Frank photo exhibit they had there. It was entirely my mom’s idea. She must be getting sick of shopping like we usually do after lunch (fine with me, cuz I’m always broke) and this is the second museum thing we’ve done this summer. The first was the Doty cabin in either Neenah or Menasha. Or kinda between. On the lake, anyway. (It’s also funny to not really remember, since there was some Neenah-Menasha rivalry in the Doty story.) At any rate, I hadn’t been to the Neville Public Museum since I was in school, and I still think that someday that damn mastodon is gonna come alive and trample me. Though it wasn’t quite as large as I remember it. Whatever, I’m lucky I didn’t have nightmares about it this week.
So on Wednesday, vacation half over, I decided to go to the craft store and self-medicate my laziness with expensive pills of scrapbooking paper and stickers. (I don’t scrapbook, I just hoard Halloween papers.) While there, gorging on the pretty, pretty thrills of a page full of ravens and skull key stickers, I started to feel a pain in my stomach. Now, I’m no stranger to gastrointestinal distress, but it usually isn’t in my stomach and it’s usually not a constant pain like this, no nausea at all, just pain. In fact, I only remember ever before feeling like this once, and it had unpleasant results. And I’m currently a twenty-minute drive from home.
I am no stranger to road rage. I bitch and sometimes scream with the best of them. Of course, it probably looks like I’m rocking out to a totally hardcore song (that’s NOT Weird Al), but I can get pretty growly. I don’t, however, typically just scream at the top of my lungs loud enough that the car ahead of me can actually hear me. But in the twenty minutes in the car, my “huh, my stomach is kinda uncomfortable,” turned to “get out of my @#$%^&*( way so I can puke or die or whatever the %^&* will stop this pain!”
And while it wasn’t a pleasant pain, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. I was being a tad melodramatic, in an effort to keep my mind occupied. Singing along to the radio had disappeared fast, and breathing and counting had gotten old. So, screaming.
I made it safely home without driving through anyone, and threw up and felt almost instantly improved. I laid around and watched a DVD I’ve had from Netflix since May. (It even went back in the mail today, so sorry to whoever might have had “freaking long wait” on their list!) Around suppertime, I hadn’t felt any pain or illness, so I decided to try to eat a little something.
Two hours later, I realized that had been a mistake. Took two bouts to remedy that bad decision. Whether food poisoning, or flu, I felt better Thursday. Was hesitant to eat, but when some standard chicken noodle stayed settled and the discomfort of it was tolerable, managed to make it to the grocery store for ginger ale and these peanut butter cup cookies that was really all I wanted to eat. Watched some movies (which was actually more than I’d done all week) and had an excuse to lay around because now the muscles under my ribs ached.
Friday I did laundry, including all my bedding, just so I could say I did as much on my (entire) vacation as I might do on a day off during a workweek. Then I condemned myself, buried under a shit-ton of guilt for doing nothing constructive all week. I neither wrote nor picked up a book to read. So much for that edit-a-chapter-a-day nonsense I’d been trying to talk myself into. That’s what this blog should really be about. A million and one ways to procrastinate working on a novel. (Epic-length blog-post about doing nothing and then being sick is number 7.)
At any rate, it is only a month to NaNoWriMo, and I saw a post about a blog post a day for a month being good training for it. Damn straight, I need training! Not sure I’ll get anywhere farther than this on that training, but I can’t know unless I start. (Except I suppose that since I technically started this on 10-2, I’m already a day behind.)