Vacations: everybody could use one, and, in fact, many have earned one, too. But sometimes it’s hard to tell oneself “I earned this” and actually request one (much less actually enjoy it).
That’s definitely me. I typically earn more vacation hours than I feel compelled to use, and so on occasion I’m pretty much forced to take time off just so I don’t lose them hard-earned hours.
A couple of summers ago, I had been wrestling with trying to get a scientific paper submitted and published for what seemed like forever. So when I finally got an actual draft completed it seemed like a good time to cash in on a week’s worth of that much-needed vacay time.
We weren’t going anywhere as a family; instead, I had grand plans of getting sh*t done around the house that had long been neglected. You know, a lot of hands-on projects.
Come the Monday morning of my vacation week, the first thing I decided to tackle was very much so indeed ‘hands-on’: the strip of our lawn between the sidewalk and the street had been overgrown with a bunch of thick-stalked, deep-rooted weeds. And I was going to hand-pluck every last one of those m*therf**kers.
This turned out to be some rather intense manual labor, and by the end of the morning I wasn’t even halfway done–but my hands were full of blisters already, despite wearing garden gloves.
I figured I would give my hands a rest and would tackle the remaining weeds the following day. However, the next morning I discovered that my hands were so painfully blistered that they were useless for even the slightest hint of “manual labor” or “hands-on tasks.”
Welp, there went my vacation! I didn’t get jack-squat done with my precious time off. In fact, I was just miserable the whole time, thanks to my poor decision making. Great job, me.
The point of the story is choose your ----- battles, man. Simple as that. As you were, soldier, as you were…
On a very remotely related note…at my grandmother’s funeral a couple of years ago, my uncle was delivering the eulogy, and made some comment about “the grandkids coming in after playing in the woods all day.”
I remember turning to my brother and sharing this look that said “What in the ----- is he talking about? We’re in Southwest Kansas–there aren’t any ‘woods’ for at least 150 miles in any direction!”
Then, to great humorous effect, he corrected himself, noting that he meant to say “playing in the weeds all day.”
Everyone let out a chorus of chuckles: it was funny because it was true af.
Weeds–now that sounded a lot more like our collective childhood…
“Woods?” Pfffft! Get the ----- out of here, man.
Content created on: 22 October 2020 (Thursday)
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