I haven't gone out of town, nor does it look as if I will at this point (sorry, Nikki - but a day-trip will be in order soon!) - instead I've chosen to vacation at home. Almost literally.
3 days in a row (though not nights - ah! the problems that come from being involved with someone who still lives "at home"; maybe when she's finished school for the year), Laura has visited me and we've had marvellous times together. Yesterday, especially, was - well, let's say incredible (and exhausting) and leave it at that.
I am really coming to like this girl, despite all of the reasons I shouldn't. Better (or worse) yet, I think she is, too. I'm really not looking forward to the (almost) inevitable day when she decides she's had enough of this old man; but what the hell - I've pretty much lived my life for the trip, rather than the destination. Security is for the petit bourgeouis, right kids?
Strangely enough, after 2 or 3 weeks of serious (and seriously expensive) debauching, I've only gone out drinking once during my vacation. I can only believe that I was going out everyday after work, not to watch the pretty girls strutting their stuff along Queen Street but just to numb myself to the fact I loathed my job and needed to alter my consciousness in response to it.
And today, I'm going to be a good boy. Fixing a flat tire, organizing my office, paying over-due bills and calling Minolta about my non-functioning digital camera are on the agenda. Beyond that? Who knows? Maybe its time to go out somewhere.
End of incredibly lame transmission.