My Year of the Tiger

I had big plans last night.   

All day long at work, I dreamt of what last night might be.  I had visions of wine and a lovely homemade meal.  I had plans to snuggle on the couch.  Movies were in order.  Laughter, relaxation – my contentment would know no bounds.

But instead I worked until almost 8, came home, surrendered to ordering a pizza, and got back on my computer to do work the rest of the night.  The only alcohol I came in touch with was a shot of brandy to shake the work out of me.  

I’m a classy dame.

After I took care of emails, etc, I took a glance around the apartment and noticed it was starting to accumulate signs of being lived in.  And since I dedicated my entire life on Sunday to making sure I could eat cake off the carpet without fear, I immediately got up to start cleaning.  After all, I have to work again tomorrow and then go to my parents’ house and somehow fit in a blog post and then spend time with the shiny, new baby nephew, and then I’ll drive back and come back to work on Monday and it will all begin again.

It’s an endless cycle of stressful doom.

I have to figure out a way to break the cycle.   I’ve got knots in my back so huge they’re becoming part of my bone structure.   When I lie down at night, I shoot up an hour  later and plug a bunch of to-do’s in my phone so I don’t miss anything and can sleep in peace.

Isn’t that frightening?  I’m not even married.  Or with child.  Or with dog.  

I’m thinking some super awesome vacation is in order, but on all accounts that costs money.   Even if I decide to spend the time in the woods,  I need to get a tent.  And food.  And probably rent a camp site.  And I have to drive there, which sucks since it’s more expensive than a gallon of milk.  I should just invest in a dairy cow, put it in my backyard, sell the milk to neighbors and use that money to go get gas.

At least then it would only cost me between 20 and 80 cents a gallon.

But I digress.   The point is that I unless my landlord suddenly allows the housing of large, dairy-producing farm animals, I am unlikely to be able to afford even the most rudimentary of vacations.  

I would think that if I’m stressed from working all the time, my working should permit a vacation of sorts.  But all working really does is point out all the things I need money for that I don’t have.  Heaven forbid I trot off into the sunset for a weekend getaway and the car finally heaves its last, strained, dirt-filled breath.  I’d have hock my camping supplies on the side of the road until I got enough chump change to put in a tow call.

I went through this line of thinking not long ago and set aside a jar in the corner of the apartment to collect spare change and loose dollar bills so that someday I can afford to go to Barcelona.  Or Ireland.  Or England.

But I got hungry one night and went to P.F. Chang’s instead.

So maybe relaxation just isn’t on the books for me in 2011.  Maybe this is the year of the go-getter.  This is the year of restlessness, of blog-writing, of day job success, of night hobby take-offs, of relentlessness.   This is my power year.  My year of the tiger. 

Rawr. ♣

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Tags: 365 Project, Humor, life, musings, postaday2011