Not Exactly a Vacation…

… but close enough. Let’s call it time off. I am taking advantage of a Holiday weekend to have a full week of greatly needed time off.

I have not whined about work for a while, but I will say this much. I need a serious reset. I’m thinking of having a reset button installed… somewhere near the port for a memory card that I have planned. What do you think – neck, forehead? The neck would be better aesthetically, but the forehead would be more practical because I wouldn’t have to fumble without being able to see where I am inserting the card. Maybe a different spot for each… the last thing I need is for some damn fool to come running up and hit a reset button on my forehead. I would probably think it was time to start my day over. Hmmm… the challenges of bionics.

But I digress… and probably inadvertently proved my need for a reset.

So, the “not exactly a vacation” part has to do with the fact that we are not going anywhere. But that’s OK, I have enjoyed home vacations before. But David has to work… but that’s OK (for me, not him), I just need time away from work. But I forgot when I planned this time off that it is a payroll week, so I will have to do that (from home, I hope). But that’s OK, it should only take a few hours. But it will involve communicating with people from work, and I don’t know about you, but to me a vacation means NO communication with work…

I work at strange place where the managers feel they need to be in constant communication with work on their time off. That’s just wrong. Why bother taking the time off if you are checking your work email and making calls to “check in?” I am dedicated, but that is just obsessive and more than a little controlling. I have a good, competent staff and I trust them to do what needs to be done. Someone needs to change that mindset and I am happy to start a new trend.

Now that I whined about work (yet again), the fact remains that I AM on vacation and I have some fun projects planned. Woe be the first misguided soul to call me from work and say “Help me Poppa Smurf, we don’t know what to do!”

Pillow Transference and Other Life Mysteries

Like any other lonely, insecure, maladjusted, and slightly twisted single person, I learned the joy of hugging a pillow while I sleep. It was a habit that I thought would go away when I was no longer single, and it did – for a while. With life’s little daily stressors and a touch of insomnia, I re-learned the joy of pillow hugging. That is, of course, only when the real thing (much more comforting, comfortable, and huggable) has fallen asleep and I do not want to disturb…

This habit seems to be contagious. Pillows are good for balancing the body, helping to keep the back straight, and keeping a sore shoulder comfortable – and, of course, just comforting.

First, there was the designated “huggy pillow.” Then the full length body pillow appeared. I affectionately refer to it as “the great wall.” So now, with two official huggy pillows and two people, one would think that all would be right in the world. One would be wrong.

An odd thing now happens through the night. I fall asleep hugging a pillow and wake up through the night with the pillow gone… to find that David is holding it. Curious. How does this pillow transference occur? I have a theory.

As we all know from watching Travelocity® commercials, garden gnomes have the ability to move freely among us, unnoticed. I believe that gnomes secretly enter our homes in the night and unceremoniously move the pillow from one person to another. Then they give a little kick in the hindquarters just for fun. This would explain those bruises on your butt that you can’t remember getting.

I am in the process of setting up a motion sensor video surveillance system to catch the little buggers in the act. Then I intend to contact Scientific American and The National Inquirer.

You, gentle readers, don’t have to thank me for this information. It is a service I provide out of deep affection for you.

The Morning Commute

I hate crying. It clogs the sinuses and often starts a headache. It is particularly bad when driving because you either have to pull over or squint through your tears to see the road. When it happens during a morning commute, who really wants to take the time to pull over?

Yesterday, preoccupied with the prospect of experiencing my first hurricane, I thought the flashing lights in the distance might be due to a road closed from flooding. I thought, “Great, just a mile from home and I am going to get detoured.” As I got closer, I could see that there were three police cars with their noses all pointing towards each other in the middle of the road. I thought it strange and proceeded slowly, as the few cars on the road braving the weather went down to one lane. It was just a couple of car lengths before the intersection, so I was right beside the police activity as I was stopped for the red light. When I turned my head and looked, my hand went to my mouth in horror and I couldn’t stop the tears.

An empty car was in the center turning lane, and a few feet in front of it was a wheelchair. The wheelchair was knocked on its side with pieces of metal scattered all around.

Just beyond the base of the chair was a single, empty shoe.

I have seen him sitting at the intersection. His hair long and wild, I imagined that he might be a Vietnam vet. When he would cross this very busy intersection, he would do it with impressive speed, but he was unpredictable. Sometimes he would just dart out, sometimes he would wheel himself backwards, while other times he would carefully wait for the light. He might have been homeless; he was probably not mentally stable. But he was as much a part of my daily commute as the road itself – except he had a name.

The police officers were taking pictures of the scene and going about their business in what appeared to be an emotionally detached way. I realize that they see things like this, and worse, every day. But the placement of cars, police officers, empty wheelchair, and shoe, looked like a bizarre still life carefully being photographed - that someday, might appear in an exhibition of surrealistic hyper-realism.

Had I left for work a few minutes earlier, I may have been part of that picture.

I have seen this man every day on my way to work for nearly two years. I did not see him this morning.

There was no hurricane, just a lot of rain.

I went about my day, like any other day.

I can’t get the image of that empty shoe out of my head.