When you have two weeks off work, one feels, you should have something to show at the end: perhaps a trip to someplace majestic? Perhaps great accomplishments? A tattoo, at least?
I have none of that. The most exotic location I visited in the past two weeks was Comcast corporate headquarters on Peachtree Industrial Boulevard -- I didn't even escape the confines of the 285 perimeter. Great accomplishments ... I got some things done in preparation for surgery, but that's not real pleasant to contemplate. I walked two and a half miles at two in the morning dressed as a penguin. I drank beer.
I am relaxed as hell, which if you were to see me two weeks and three nights ago, would qualify as quite an accomplishment. I did write a bunch, though you won't see evidence of it until the great American novel comes out. One sad fact is that when I wrote a lot in coffee shops and bars, you don't see it. When I write a lot in the blog, my fiction aspirations suffer proportionally.
I've listened to Claw Hammer a shitload, and finally realized that their first album is their best. That's something.
And I've developed some sort of record-setting cold, which is an achievement, I guess. Anyway, this is all just practice until I win the lottery and can live all of life in this pleasant jobless mode.