Thursday, June 3, 2010

Chilly Toes

Guess it's the day to wear my new Socks on Fire socks. It cooled off and rained yesterday and my tootsies are cold. Or maybe I'll just wear my usual mismatched socks. I don't know, I suppose I'll just close my eyes when I get dressed and live with what happens. It probably looks like I did that most days anyway.

I couldn't keep my eyes open on the couch last night, but when I went to bed, wrote and read, and turned off the light around 11, I had the devil of a time getting comfy and falling asleep. What's up with that?

June 2--Minorca, Spain. Oh yeah, this is exactly what I was hoping for, a vacation in a villa so far removed from civilization that I have to ride a donkey to get to it. I want the rooms to be carved into a cliff, each one on a different level so that I'm always going up or down uneven steps. Put some low walls around little terraces hung out on ledges over the ocean and make sure that rocks the size of baseballs fall down every once in a while to try and bean me while I read or chat. Make sure that the ocean is rough, cold, and nearly inaccessible so that every moment spent getting to it and in it is uncomfortable to the max. Don't forget to provide a cook and maid that speak no English whatsoever and smile at me like they think I'm a mental defective. Anything else? Oh, yes, make sure that the power goes out at least once a day, every day, so all the digital clocks blink red-ly like demons in dim corners, and if you could arrange for the lone toilet to stop working for at least twenty-four hours during the week that would be perfect. Having a wonderful time, wish you were here, Ms. Snooty Travel Agent. Who wouldn't want a vacation like that?

I'm in a mood. Can you tell?

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