The second week of my vacation is here. Before it got here, I planned a long list of activities related to overall housework and household organization. Sometime over the weekend, I decided I wasn't going to do any of those things. It's my vacation, and I usually spend too much of my down time trying to make up for my overall disinterest in all things domestic.
There are plenty of things I could do that are supposed to be enjoyable. I could read any of the dozens of books I haven't been able to get to. I could make jewelry. Bake. Go to a museum. Write (that one's a bit of a struggle). Go hiking. Ride my bike. Work out. Go to a movie. Those sorts of things.
It's not a lack of options that is bothering me. It's the fact that no matter how I spend my time this week, I will be spending it alone.
It gets old. It is a relentless daily reminder that the only person willing to spend time with me lives a couple of states away (and I'm sure she reached her exposure limit last week).
I'm not eager to go back to work. I strive to relax and enjoy these schedule-free days that are open from end to end. Eventually, though, being so isolated just doesn't feel very good. No, not at all.
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