11 days off from work. ELEVEN. I haven’t had this kind of break since college.
blah blah blah long story; I had the whole time off with no travel plans, no family and no social obligations whatsoever.
I had visions of Biggest-Loser-esque epic workouts to fill my days. I thought I would clean out and organize the closet-o-despair. I was going to bake sugar cookies and whole wheat cranberry bread. And the blog posts! Oh, the daily posts I was conjuring up!
But it’s turned into a total mollusk slug-out. Not like sexy escargot slugs. Like gross, pouring salt all over them on the back steps slugs.
I would gladly accept slugdom if its in exchange for feeling ultra rested and relaxed. Loafing around in pyjamas for days on end is my utopia. Except I’ve been staying up absurdly late reading YA novels and playing Tiny Tower on my iPhone and then waking up ass early because I’m ridiculous.
So instead of feeling serene and accomplished, I’m grody. Like a back porch slug who was beckoned by the golden siren song of or a dish of beer, got drunk, then got salted and had an oozplosian.