I can haz vakay?
I have not, outside of a trip to Chicago for a family reunion (and I’m so not talking about what a fucking nightmare that ended up being), had a vacation since I was 12.
No, really.
Right after the maternal unit kicked it, the adopted paternal unit took my sister and I away for a week or so. Since then, the most I’ve gotten is the odd three day weekend here or there. Look at my age, do the math. That’s a long fucking time.
Not to say I’ve never had paid time off. Sure I have. But it’s either been used up moving (oh fuck me with a chainsaw, how I hate to move) or dealing with some kid issue. Or the one time I took a whole week off of work to have some, uh, shall we say, elective surgery.
*cough*
Anyway. Yeah. Vacations? That’s what other people do. That’s what them guys over there do. My boss does, my coworker does. Everyone except yours truly.
This year, I hoarded my vacation time. Well, as much as one could hoard with all the stuff I had going on around me. Blah blah, moving on.
Provided that nothing goes wrong, and dear Goddess I have not posted this up to now because I’m afraid of jinxing it, Tetris and I hit the open highway sometime Caturday and road trip our happy asses down to… somewhere that I’m not telling.
And there yours truly shall spend a glorius five or six days laying in the sun (shut up about skin cancer, this bitch donut care), relaxing, and remembering what it is like to be a human being again. A human being, not a human doing.
I can haz reelackzayshun?
