I don’t want to work any more this week. Or next week. I’m ready for vacation, and I’d like a super-long one, please. The danger with super-long vacations, of course, is that after all that time off, I don’t want to go back to work. The first time that happened to me was after the month I took off to move across the country when I transferred from San Diego to Norfolk. Then, I could very easily blame my reluctance to go back to work on the fact that work = ship and deployment and separation and stress. I don’t have that excuse anymore (something I am most certainly NOT complaining about). Going back to work now just means not being able to stay home and be lazy, something I don’t get any sympathy for. Which is fair. I can hardly demand sympathy for being employed. Nor should I.
Editing is a good thing. I just deleted a paragraph about my hair. My ponytail, really. Be grateful. It was…stupid. Worse than inane. Or, well, it was inane, but not in a fun way.
Because I can’t think of any other way to stop tonight, I’ll leave you with this: Kenny Loggins wouldn’t beat the baby Jesus.