Oh the tug of war of vacation days! Half of my brain is singing "Holiday Road" louder and louder as my final hours of work tick away toward 10 days off IN A ROW! Visions of doing nothing (and liking it) dance through my head, each vision resembling a Sandals Resort ad: me thin and tan in a bikini lounging and gazing at jelly-belly-blue seas.* It makes vacation seem spectacular, doesn't it?
First, I live near the sewage treatment plant, so the seas are not jelly-belly-blue, but more frothy-poo-puce. Second, Senor is not on vacation, so I'm not planning to head off for Jamaica alone. Third, I don't ACTUALLY enjoy doing nothing. I only think I do. I am incapable of really really indulging in nothingness because the other half of my brain is droning like the Wicked Witch's soldiers, "Oh-Wee-Oh, Oooh-oh! Go to the gym, Oooh-oh! Put away your clothes, Oooh-oh! Write a brilliant song, Oooh-Oh! Organize the canned goods, Oooh-Oh!" You get the idea. My practical side can't get over how much I could and should get done in a 10 day period, but my realistic side knows that I'm setting myself up for sulking because I haven't done enough of nothing OR enough of something.
So what I need is a plan. How to balance slacking-with-impunity and revolutionizing a life that resists as though crouched behind a hydraulic barricade (I hear the people sing)?
Anyone got some ideas? A plan that fairly combines responsibility and whimsy? "The pressure on my eyes is indescribable."
*For the record, this does not at all resemble the reality of me doing nothing. Me doing nothing looks like 3 days in the same jammies, watching shows I don't care about, pouting about the dishes in the sink and the spare tire around my waist. Not pretty!