I make about as much sense as beer-soaked trout roe in spinachless dip

(Found an unposted web log entry from 2018 and kinda enjoyed reading it, so here it is.)

This is quite bizarre. I took off a handful of days – no, not even – I took off Friday, first of all.... OK wait, let’s go back even further. Let's go back to last Friday. And then, let’s also talk about how there is no place to share all of this information due to the fact that... well... there just isn't.

But we'll get to that.

Anyway, ok. Back to last Friday and trying to take some time off. Sort of. I'm bad at that. I'm also bad at leisuring. But I think probably a lot of people are, or at least they are bad at leaisuring in the way that most people expect or anticipate or believe or assume they should be leasuring. You look at pictures in magazines, ones that really pull you in and put you in a place. Say, a beach.

Imagine… a Corona ad.

There's a beautiful beach, a blue ocean, a chair with a few beers in a bucket. Someone in a hat sitting in the chair, pops the cap off the beer and leans back... now what. You sit and stare at the ocean while drinking the beer.

Ah.

And what? What else? I drink beer very quickly so now what? Listen to music? Think? Rest? Start worrying that you didn't hydrate enough and so probably shouldn't drink that other beer in the bucket but really, it’s so light, it’s almost like drinking water, right?

I mean, most people would be bored sitting in that chair. Or they would sit there and maybe drink half the beer before they start looking at their phone and at the in-flight magazine that they stashed in their backpack, or around for someone to visit with....

Ah, now there is a thought. 

Visiting. Is visiting considered leisure? It's not always relaxing. I think of leisure time as being spent relaxing, but maybe not necessarily? Some people use leisure time to exercise, which is like the opposite of relaxing. So ok; maybe I don't relax very well.

I don't relax very well.

I need to talk about control. And about having no oars.

At some point - but not now.

I also need a massage.

I also digress...

So. Back to taking off today. 

[insert photo from a magazine article showing a rainbow-hued collection of botanicals on a dinner plate in which one of the captions states "Bright green herb oil replaces spinach leave you find in traditional artichoke dips"]

No place on line, save possibly my blog, makes as little sense as my life does. I have curated my life in such a way for it not to make sense. If other people can say herb oil replaces spinach leaves in some flower-filled bowl of, supposedly (‽), spinach and artichoke dip, or that having a climbing wall across from a big glass window in a hotel room was not a weird idea, I can fly in a day early and stay at a rooming house in Portland Oregon to have a “me” day. 

I can say here that I am possibly one daybook and a pair of pajamas overpacked. And that yes, my bag is an homage to Babou from Archer. Because, no one cares, except me. I understand that. I live with me, though, and I feel I should get some place to document this stuff.