Gettin’ pissy with it
Me: "I’ll be on vacation next week."
Co-worker: "OH, really! Where are you going?"
Me: "To sleep."
No, not permanently. But good and plenty.
Yes, catching up on sleep, sort of smoothing down those eyebags back into baby soft pearls of skin, will take priority during my vacation next week. I also plan to not work. And unpack my boxes and arrange my room, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
I guess it’s for the best that I can’t afford to dash off to some chi chi locale. The last time I actually "went somewhere" was to a wedding reception up north, somewhere in not-San Francisco. All I can remember is there were lots and lots of trees and we stayed in a hotel. And Ms. Sunblock USA here, toting her twin friends Vivarin and walkman, can’t take two steps out the house without absolutely each and every amenity necessary to keep me at ground level and prevent an emotional supernova from occurring.
So you can imagine what happened when, ’round midnight at the hotel, I realized I hadn’t brought the Brita filter, and there wasn’t a 7-11 in sight. Of course I don’t drink tap water, so I had to trek through "The Shining" hotel in search of a vending machine, praying that it dispensed some sort of fruit drink or tea beverage. I don’t recall the specific details, but there was some frantic fumbling for change in a darkened hotel suite (the others were asleep, so I couldn’t turn on the lights), the aforementioned venture through ’70s carpeted hotel hallways, and the cherry on top: a card key that didn’t work when I tried to get back into the room, forcing me to walk blindly back to the front desk (I didn’t have my contacts in. Ambiance, you know.) to ask the clerk for assistance.
I don’t know why the smallest things push me over the edge. I mean, I didn’t have a meltdown in this case, but even something like not having filtered water readily available to me is akin to prison. So you can imagine what would happened if I, say, went on holiday to Ibiza for a week. And forgot my favorite hair clip or something. Whoo, dolly, that wouldn’t be pretty. *chills*
