In the blogosphere, there are no holidays . . .
and yet I took the day off anyway.
My primary leisure time activity of late has been losing myself in my copy of The Complete New Yorker DVD collection. So far, I've developed a big(ger) crush on John Updike, discovered that I am way too amused by the cartoons of the 1950s. (Two very proper Chanel-suited ladies are walking down a city street and pass by a bohemian chick sporting jeans, a black turtleneck and ironed-flat hair. One of the Chanel ladies sniffs to the other, "Well, I'm certainly glad I'm not an individual.")
I'm not sure there is any way this can be viewed as a productive use of my time, but it is infinitely more pleasant than, say, answering my husband's questions as he fills out our first joint tax return. (Him: How much did you pay in state taxes last year? Me: Whatever they took out of my paychecks.)
Fueled by such denial, I had a deliciously fabulous long weekend, beginning with (if I do say so myself) an absolutely rocking birthday party for my just-turning-12 "little sister" and wrapping up with the lemon biscotti and honeybush tea I'm enjoying even as I write this. I love my job like crazy, but taking three full days off from it was surprisingly wonderful. It's enough to move me to renounce my usual "no holidays" policy and start taking them all the time. In theory, my work should be better (although, sadly, not Updike quality) this week because I'm so relaxed and recharged. Right?
