This morning I awoke much earlier than I’d expected. I had the whole day ahead of me to do with as I pleased. I’d specifically planned to not plan the first few days of my vacation time.
But a curious thing happened as the morning wore on. I started to feel like really, I ought to have something planned, that there should be something accomplished at the end of it all. I should go the gym, work off some of that flab that’s been hanging around. I should clean up the apartment, I should, I ought…
Wasn’t being rested and relaxed enough?
It got worse as the day wore on. I should go get something done…
but that would mean dealing with people…
…and then it hit me.
Part of the reason I took this time off is that I am well and truly sick of people. I don’t hate them, I’m just tired of them and their constant noise. I don’t want to be perky, or happy to see someone (unless I am) or chat about our weekends (unless I’m really interested). I don’t want to deal with one more boring conversation about TV I don’t watch, all the while wishing I could curl up with my book or my knitting or my sketch book or any number of other things that I enjoy doing on my own.
And so it was that at 2:37 this afternoon, I hadn’t yet stepped out the door, and I knew exactly why. I didn’t want to deal with anyone. I didn’t want to deal with the Yaletown sneer, or get stuck in an elevator where people would studiously ignore each other. I didn’t want to pony up $5.00 for an underachieving mocha from the local coffee place, and I certainly did not want to go shopping.
This vacation thing is tough.