August 26, 2003 02:43 PM

At some point in the past, vacation.

Vacation, at some point in the past, was all about doing new things and being new places and returning to a place previously visited was something else. Was nostalgia, even if for last year. And both were all about doing and action and anticipation.

I remember this.

Now the word has taken on its meaning for me. That is. Its root, which despite joy at the dynamic and challenging nature of word, is the heart of things. For me, see.

To be empty or absent. Vaco. I am empty. Wacko.

I'm starting to understand the appeal of the vacation as vacant. As simply apart from that which is. I have bigger plans to explore next year and these plans necessitate a storing of time and money. I thought not using those things would be easy, but it turns out that to be full constantly is exhausting. Need emptying.

And the gift of time. It's all so very adult to feel your proscribed time as some outside, unbendable force. To be escaped. I mean. Yes, I know these are my decisions, but sometimes they're heavy.

Sometimes I would rather be actualizing some visual idea or writing or - not using words like actualize and leverage and negotiating the hills and bumps of people.

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