Seriously wondering how it is possible that I still have a week left to go. Do I want to go back to work? No. But I keep having the insidious feeling that I should be back at work. I'm often plagued, on my days off, with the feeling that I've been somehow mistaken and that I don't really have the day off.
Today I went to the beach for the first time this year. It's strange: when I was getting ready to move here, I thought of myself as "moving to the beach." I would ask the dogs, "Would you like to be beach-doggies?" And now I probably go 3-4 times a year. Maybe. I suppose that everyone takes where they live for granted.
Happy Birthday to my best friend Kasey. It seems like just yesterday that we celebrated your 21st birthday at Outback, drank to many Wallaby-Darneds and fell asleep before midnight.
3 comments:
Somehow, I never have that prob with days off. The prob is just going BACK to work. That's what'll happen to me next week, no doubt: a big "oh fuck" moment, followed by lots of whining. That's when I'll call you up to commiserate. ;)
Every time I tell someone I'm moving away, the response is always, "How can you leave the beach?" And I think that I don't ever go there. And then I think that it is always sort of here and there, the salt lingering, the way it undoubtedly affects the weather. And I think I shall miss the beach (or the nearness of it) when I am in the concrete jungle. Sigh. Thank you for allowing me that little confession.
I miss the beach, too, and I ALWAYS SWORE that I would be the one person who didn't take the beach for granted.
I wasn't. I never went to the beach. Unless I had friends in town; then, I acted like I went ALL THE TIME, just to make them jealous in the hopes that they would come visit me more.
I live about two blocks from Lake Erie now. But that TOTALLY DOES NOT COUNT.
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