Returning from a vacation is always an extremely rough transition. Having spent the past two weeks going to bed whenever I wanted, waking up whenever I wanted, and just generally not being at work or worrying about other responsibilities, I�m not exactly in a state of mind where I�m ready for real life to begin again. Of course, I was never consulted on this, and so here I am, getting ready to leave for work. Next time, I say we put it to a vote.
My family reunion, I am happy to note, went off very well. It was characterized largely by me sitting on the beach and reading my book, but there are far worse ways to spend a vacation. I did come to the rather sobering realization, though, that I don�t really fit in well with my family. I�m the lone abstract thinker in a long line of scientists. I�m not saying any one is better than the other, but it just made me a feel a little isolated when my family all began to bond immediately in a language I couldn�t quite comprehend. However, family is what we are, and we all love each other, even if we don�t always understand what the fuck each other�s problems are.
One of the great things about vacationing at the beach is that, if you feel so inclined, you can get a crazy good workout by jogging thereon. I decided to do just this, and I happily report that few things are as invigorating as sea spray in your face when you�re sweating like a horse in a barn fire. Less invigorating is when a huge tidal wave knocks you down, tosses you into a rock, and tears off your pants. No, that�s not an idle example, and yes, the Atlantic Ocean did try to rape me. I had sand inside my socks and seashells stuck to my bare ass, and when I scrambled over the rocks off the beach and back onto the road, gasping for air, with seaweed wrapped around me like the Creature From the Black Lagoon, I may have frightened a few bicyclists. But at least I survived.
Of course, everything I wore that day (Wednesday) is still soaking wet, and has begun to reek like the funk of forty thousand years. I don�t know what exactly was in that ocean, but it was pure evil, if its odor is any judge. My shoes smell like they were used as canopic jars. That realization I came to after their stench had fully pervaded my bedroom. They are now outside, where I�m hoping the continued exposure to fresh air will do them some good. Of course, given that it has been raining in Los Angeles like we maybe ought to be rounding up two of every animal, I don�t how much shot they have at ever drying out, but I can handle wet shoes just so long as they don�t stink of death anymore.
Another thing I managed to do during the vacation was to really get a move on with my reading. I finished Rebecca, which was really an excellent book, although it ended a little abruptly, and then I read through all of R is for Ricochet, by Sue Grafton, which was also very good. Of course, I finished that during the first leg of my trip back to California, and had packed all of the umpteen new books I�d gotten for Christmas in my checked baggage, and had to buy a new paperback at the airport so I could have something to read on the second leg, but whatever. Can�t have too many books, I always say.
I didn�t get back to the apartment until almost nine o�clock on New Years Eve, at which point I rallied and went to a really fun party. I�m a little embarrassed to admit that I sort of left my underwear in some guy�s car, and a little more embarrassed to admit that this oversight was not the result of any hanky-panky at all. For lack of bathing suit, I went swimming in my undies, and then forgot I�d set them on the floor of the car when my ride dropped me off at home. I promise next time that story will end much more pruriently.
In any event, I hope everyone had a happy and healthy New Year�s, and that you�ve all committed to beneficial and realistic resolutions. And if not? That�s okay too. I�ll still love you guys.
Someone Got Here By Searching For: yodeling pasta I�m Watching: Sitcom, a French film by Fran�ois Ozon about�well, a normal household that falls under the evil thrall of an apparently hypnotic lab rat, and believe me, the movie is actually weirder than it sounds. I�m Reading: Native Tongues, by Carl Hiaasen. So far it�s okay, but�I don�t know. I�m not completely won over yet.