OK, so I'll go to the college, change my clothes, and still get in a good hour or 90 minutes before it gets dark. WRONG! I dropped in to see Heather, and we went out to McDonald's together. There again, I told her that I didn't want anything except a sip of her drink. I wound up eating half of the fries.
I manage to make it home by 8:30 or so. Somewhere along the line, my headlights decided to go out on me, so I'm racing against the darkness. I still haven't gotten my turn signals fixed, so I wound up being forced past my exit and had to go an additional 6 or 7 miles through construction zones. Amazingly, less than a mile from home, my headlights decided to work again, just when it was getting too dark to drive without them.
So now I'm home. I have a list of things I want to get done: clean the kitchen, pay my bills, finish watching a movie that was due back the next day. Naturally, I don't do any of this. I sit on my ever-expanding ass, eating dinner and watching wrestling.
(Let me clue you in on something: no matter how popular it gets, no matter how good an actor or athlete some of these guys are, or whatever movie, TV, book and commercial deals they may get, admitting you are a wrestling fan immediately pushes you into the pickup-driving, Marlboro-chain-smoking, wife-beating, knuckle-dragging class of white trash society. It is a guilty pleasure that is more mocked than smoking dope or visiting adult bookstores.)
The show finishes up a little after 10. IF I had any ambition, I wold turn off the TV and do my chores, or at least pop in the tape I rented ("Shadow of the Vampire") and finish watching what I paid for. OF course, that is not what I do. Completely apathetic to my responsibilities, I turn on some background music, lean the chair back, and read some schlocky sci-fi novel. By 11:00, I'm in bed. Somewhere along the line, I nodded off, lights on and still wearing my glasses.
Heather got home a little after 11:30. I wasn't very talkative, and was probably a little grumpy. I am very sorry about that, but all I wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep. Sometime after midnight, Heather came to bed.
For the past week, I've been getting up between 6:30 and 7:00. If I'm in bed by midnight, it's usually not a problem. I had my papers laid out on the kitchen table, and I was going to write out my bills while I ate breakfast. Guess again. At 10 minutes to 8, Heather shook me awake. I managed to jump into my clothes, stick the dogs outside for a few minutes, gather up my shit, and be out the door by 8:00. I got to work by 8:45, which means if I take a brief lunch, I won't get out of here until 6:00.
I took a look at myself in the mirror. Somehow, I have managed to undo in three weeks what it took me most of the year to correct. My gut has returned, I'm growing a beautiful set of pointy man-titties, I've got pipestem arms, and I feel like I've been awake for days.
I don't have the ambition to even sit down and do some simple paperwork, but my wife has the energy to be up, run some errands, and be back home, ready to wallpaper our bedroom and/or kitchen.
I need a vacation. I need to get away from here, if only for a weekend. We went to Kentucky last month, and other than a slight problem with the bedding in the hotel room, had a wonderful time. We used to do this sort of thing all the time: pack a cooler, gas up the car, and just GO. I know a trip out of town won't solve my problems, and may even create some new ones, but right now, my flight instinct is screaming to hit the road and get a change of scenery.