Dear B,
Vacation blows. Am I allowed to say that? It seems all of the things that make life meaningful happen with the winds of outside expectation at my back. Remove that expectation and suddenly you find me, here, on the couch next to a carcass of Trader Joe's herb and spices popcorn. I can't even revel in this sloth; if you had given me the option of hours of empty time just four months ago I would have sold my fingerprints for the chance. Isn't that how it goes, though? Receiving what you want is rarely as good as the anticipation. Or, maybe, moderation in all things. Whatever, I'm sure there's a Benjamin Franklin aphorism to describe this ennui.
Wish you were here.
R
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