I spent most of my working adult life dreaming about having a summer vacation. Well, I spent it dreaming about having any sort of vacation whatsoever, but summer held a particularly prized place in my imagination.
And here we are! Summer! School’s out! I’m free!
As with most things, the idea and the reality are not quite in sync. For instance, in my fantasy summer vacations, I:
* swim everyday
* sleep in
* am very tall!
In real life:
* I am on book 9 or 10 of Daniel Silva’s Gabriel Allon series
* have made up two new nicknames for the boyfriend’s cat: Kitty McSnitty and Catty McFatty. I think these are hilarious. No one else (by which I mean the boyfriend and the cat) agrees.
* Same height, same insomnia, same messy home office
At the risk of sounding like the former whiner known as me I should say that I have had some very nice times this summer, such as a wonderful two week trip to Zurich. I think the most problematic aspect of my previous fantasies about summer vacations was my willful disregard of the fact that I actually don’t really like summer in Santa Fe.
What is summer without a lake or a beach or enough precipitation to fill a saki cup?
Hot. Dry. Aggro.
Next up: My morning trip to the gym.
I know. Stop the presses.