Things I Learned on Vacation

It’s only mildly horrifying to me that I was actually AFRAID to take time off. Times is bleak, and my alcoholic mind had me soundly convinced that disappearing from my jobsite for more than 6 hours would result in my immediate replacement. It’s a typical workaholic trap, conning yourself into believing that your work-world will stop spinning in your absence and in your exhaustion holding out that you’re the most disposable employee to ever grace God’s Earth. It’s an easy and predictable way for my disease to rob me of any peace, and I was officially down for the count by the time I put my PTO request in.

Frankly, I would have totally called my bosses and screamed, “HAHAHA! I was just joshing about the vacation. I know how much you need me, I would never dream of leaving you. YOU DO NEED ME, RIGHT?” had I not been completely laid out by a moving vehicle the Monday before my departure. That sufficiently shook me up enough, to call Uncle, to surrender to my need to shut down and turn off.

So Thursday came and I scurried around my disaster of a bedroom trying to put together as many outfits as I could cram into my travel bag. That didn’t work, so I ran out and bought a SECOND travel bag, and stuffed that one full too. You can imagine my surprise when I arrived DC and discovered that I didn’t have a single thing to wear. Best laid plans, right?

I brought my LEED book with me to study on the train. I had a 4 hour ride ahead of me, and I was planning on sucking every last minute of it dry, for maximum productivity. Instead, I found myself aimlessly staring out the window watching trailer parks come and go in my line of vision. I tried to open the book, but it literally jumped right back out of my hands like it was electrically charged. So for the first time in many, many moons I did: Not a Damn Thing. I just sat there and let it be quiet. I sort of let the trauma of the last week wash over me, and through me, under me and everywhere. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but I stayed quiet. Sometimes a girl just need to sit and navel gaze, and when that time comes, nothing else will do.

Lizzie was waiting for me at the train station and although DC was every bit as busy as NYC, it was noticeably happier. I found this profoundly disturbing. Of course I had gone on vacation to enjoy myself, but I was not convinced that I could shuck off my surliness with so little preparation. I immediately lit a cigarette, fixed a fakish smile to my face, and bravely set foot into my vacay.

The first night was a little rocky, because I was still totally confrontational NYC style. A random homeless dude started serenading us and I completely lost my shit.

“Will you just FUCK OFF already? Jesus H! What are you, high? Nobody wants your busted compliments, bro. Fuck off, fuck off, FUCK OFF!”

Lizzie stared at me aghast, but quickly recovered herself like the true lady she is. Telling loudmouthed assholes to fuck off had been my favorite pastime when I left the city, but it didn’t jive so well against the backdrop of Dupont Circle. And yet, I was relaxing despite myself, and this became crystal clear when we sat down to dinner.

It was like I had never eaten a decent meal before in my life, it was fucking mouthwatering, it was…..Chilean Seabass. Miso and Mirin Marinated Chilean Seabass. Why didn’t anybody tell me about Chilean Seabass before? How long has this shit been around? Am I the last to know everything?

I was so impressed with Chilean Seabass that I had it for dinner for EVERY night of my vacation. I tried to have it for breakfast one day too, but that didn’t pan out.

Friday was much sweeter, more gentle. Lizzie went to work and I stayed behind in her completely DOPE apartment. Her building had an unbelievable gym in it (which oddly none of the other tenants seemed interested in) so I spent a few hours down there, getting my tone on. I went to Whole Foods and got down with some organic, and I strolled in the sunshine. Strolling rocks, fyi. I usually hit Broadway in a full-blown gallop, but I think DC seduced me back into the sauntering fold.

Anyways….

Lizzie got home from work and we motored off to my second DC meeting. We got dinner on the waterfront (more Chilean Seabass, WHAT?!?!?) and then hit a hookah bar. I can’t remember who brought up the psychic idea first, but whoever thought it up deserves all of the gold stars in the universe because that shit BLEW MY HEAD APART.

She was Lebanese with bleached blonde hair and a wonky eye (which I thought lent tremendous credibility to the whole scenario) and the second she took hold of my palms, she knew everything there was to know about me.

She knew that I have an unquenchable appetite for tall, dark, and handsome, bad boys. (Who are apparently no good for me)
She knew that I have a love, passion, and fear for my writing.
She knew that I was lacking the confidence to pursue anything creative as a career front.
She knew that I have a big, big problem with shopping and spending.
She knew that I have a big, big problem with stress and aggravation.

She told me:

None of the men around me are really worth my time right now.
Just after my birthday a blonde man will be coming who is a match for me (I’ll recognize him because I will find him boring, but she swears that’s a good thing)
It’ll be 2 or 3 years easy before I have the confidence to live my destiny and create for a living.
I’ll be back in school by the fall.
I’ll live into my 90’s (which kind of scares the bejesus out of me. I’ve always looked forward to dying young. Hmmm.)

Lizzie almost fell out of her chair a few times, and I just sort of sat there with my jaw on the ground. It was a magical thing, but not always happy or safe. Her biggest revelation was that construction was a very temporary occupation for me. She stressed again and again that money isn’t everything, and the work I’m doing now is NOT MY CALLING. Seeing as I’ve been actively killing myself to make my job work out for me, I wasn’t too thrilled to hear that. She said nine more months and then I would have to quit. They’ll throw money at me, and I’ll have to decide what’s more important, money or my wellbeing.

We started scribbling down our prophecies when we got home and planning out Saturday…..

To be continued….