||[Mar. 12th, 2007|12:56 pm]
I'm the only person in my house.
I have not listened to one note of cheesy music. No one has exhorted me to have "fun" or be "fun". (I don't know why "fun" was always in quotation marks on that ship, it just was.) I'm eating lunch alone and I made the food myself. And it's really, really good. There is not now, nor later, any of the following scheduled: Family Feud, Karaoke, a Hairy Chest or Best Tan competition. Not even a Cornhole Tournament. Nothing scheduled at all.
Not a lick of cigarette smoke, cigar smoke or fat people in spandex.
I can walk from one end of the house to the other without having to acknowledge someone, dodge a geezer, be run over by a laundry cart, have a drink spilled on me or have my picture taken.
On the other hand, I'm surrounded by squalor, have a bed that is not going to make itself, am going to have to do my own dishes, and miss all of the people I had so much fun with this past week. Yeah, and the palm trees, crystal clear water and white sandy beaches. The rolling waves and salty breeze. I miss those, too.
Still, I'm the only person in my house. Mmmmmm.