I learned a long time ago that every six months, I need to take a week off to do nothing. It's what keeps me going. Without the biannual break, I'd probably go insane. Well, more insane than I may or may not already be. Whatever.

Last week’s week off was just about perfect. Late Sunday afternoon, besides feeling a bit hung-over, I felt completely and totally rejuvenated, which is odd because I can't remember ever being juvenated in the first place.

The Lady Friend and I set off the weekend before last to my family's cabin in Indiana where we spent four days hanging out with my grandparents. We drank a few bottles of wine, I chopped up some cherry logs and smoked a pork shoulder which fed the four of us for about nine meals, we gabbed with the old folks over cards, did some swimming, and rolled some bocce. Just a great, relaxing weekend.

[Things I learned from my grandparents over the weekend: 1) All of the worlds problems would be solved if we just nuked the entire Middle East. 2) While they don't approve if it, in the upcoming presidential elections their friends (and I believe they speak for every American over the age of 75) would not vote for "the Jew" (I assume they mean Lieberman) or “the Morman” (Romney, I guess), they think "the black" (I'm assuming Obama) might be a good president, but they’ll probably vote for “the Mexican” (I think they mean Richardson, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they think Giuliani is Mexican. They’re kind of freaking crazy.) 3) When your grandmother asks the exact same question three times in a ten minute span, it's best to just nod and smile. Chances are she'll nod off in a few minutes and won’t remember anything, anyway.]

We came back on Wednesday; TLF went back to work and I set off on a Ray Peterson style vacation. I watched some ball games, drank a couple hundred beers, even did some work on the closets... If I just had a Rick Ducommun look-alike neighbor to help me solve some mysteries, my week would have been complete.

I was all set to get back to work -- nothing like ten days off to recharge the batteries.

But then, by the second hour of Tuesday morning, I was ready for a vacation. The last vacation only furthered my hunch: I am good at nothing. And by that, I don't mean I'm not good at anything, I mean I'm good at doing nothing.

I enjoy doing nothing; well, really I enjoy doing lots of things, but for the most part, all of those things are nothing things. Yes, I have a career (and it's a pretty good one) which I am now essentially seven years deep into (which scares me), and I'm pretty good at what I do, but I wouldn't be doing this for free if money was not a concern.

I am nearly 27 years old, and there is not a single thing I can think of that I would enjoy doing for forty hours a week besides sleep.

This, I fear, is what I may still be thinking in thirty years. And that, in a way, depresses me. But I guess that’s adulthood...

One more day till the weekend!

(Twenty eight years till retirement.)

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These days, if you can retire at 55, you're doing pretty good, and will likely have a good 30 years or so to do nothing. That's what I'm hoping for anyway.
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