For years I didn’t believe I deserved a vacation. I mean, a vacation from what? I don’t have a full-time job outside the house, and just a part-time job that is so extremely part time, I call it my part-part-time job. I don’t do a great deal around the house, (which is a bit of a wreck,) not too much laundry, and just a little bit of food preparation. My kids need me from time to time, I suppose, which is a good thing, because I have “mom” in the description of this blog.

To top it off, I have stopped writing. So if I didn’t do what I purported to love, didn’t work, and really, didn’t do much of anything, the only stress I experienced was the stress I imposed on myself.

Unfortunately, I was drowning in it. I was sleeping for shit, eating shit, sitting entirely too much, reading, or watching TV. I was doing things, but they did not involve writing, and mostly involved me gaining weight. So, I was punishing myself and not writing. I never wanted to go on vacations, people who worked went on vacations, they EARNED vacations. I felt as if I haven’t even earned my life, I came about it the old-fashioned way. I got lucky.

But then I started writing this blog, and a funny thing started to happen. I began writing. Not just the blog, although it is glorious to be on a writing schedule again. More importantly, I have also been writing a fairy tale, a story that has been percolating in me for decades.

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Because I am doing what I always should have been doing — writing — finally, FINALLY, I feel I can have a vacation, that I am earning my right to it. Sometimes, I get physically tired. I walk, or work out at the Y from time to time. I still get stressed, overwhelmed, emotionally overwrought, sure. And I wouldn’t mind going on a vacation, but ironically, I don’t want a vacation from writing. No matter where I am or what I am doing, I want to take a portion of my day and just write.

I never want to retire from writing.

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Writer and storyteller, immigrant, wife, mom, knitter, collector of jokes, lover of cheap, sweet wine.

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