Once upon a time I would have thought you were out of your mind if you had suggested to me that good times can be had whilst doing nothing. A vacation was touring cathedrals of Spain, castles of Germany, the Great Wall. Anything less was sort of a waste.
Devoted partner saw things differently. On our grand tour of Europe he continually beseeched me (besought me?) to find us a scrap of sand, if only for a day or two, to break up the monotony of Giottos and portculli. Turns out he was right. Beaching becomes me. I don't know why it took me so long to realize. After all, I can recall sunbathing ad nauseam at summer camp (with baby oil) and enjoying that. I just always though beach vacations were a cop out. Until I took one.
Now I have difficulty summoning up the energy for a museum or a walking tour of anything other than the pool. Well, not really, but let's just say I now appreciate the value of a stack of books, a cold beverage, and sweet sweet ultraviolet.
Which is why I invited myself on devoted partner's business conference in Miami over the next two days. I assured him I would be plenty happy alone, with my books, and my drinks, by the pool while he did whatever it is people do at conferences (I hear murmurings of powerpoint). This useless blathering is my way of excusing my sunny absence for the next few days. True, we'll have the computer and, conceivably I could write something, but I make no promises.
Now I am just hoping that the UPS man, armed with Life After Yes arrives before my cab to the airport.
2 days ago