Well, hello.

It’s been a while since I last saw you, but my, my, my.

When we get together?

Sparks. Magic. Gallons of coffee. Mild sunburns.

BLISS.

I know, I know… it’s still a couple of months off. But I don’t think there is a single thing wrong with anticipating the deliciousness of you for as long as possible in advance.

And I’m quite excited — this time, I’m going to get on an airplane to start you off, rather than a road trip!

I mean, we LOVED the road trip, Vacation. We literally never ran out of things to talk about, and with the exception of deadly hot dogs, the possibility of scorpions, soul-melting heat, creepy men in hotels, and the people of Fresno, every moment brought us joy and relaxation.

Unfortunately, two weeks of driving was probably much less relaxing for Catherine than two weeks of playing DJ and clutching giant milkshakes was for me.

Go passenger side! Woo!

This way, both of us can have the same amount of time to chill, and we can force Eric to chauffeur us everywhere we need to go. YAY!

Eric? Is a good driver. Seriously. You should see him merge. Oh… wait. I guess you were there.

(Now, my only concern with the airplane thing, Vacation, is that my sinuses and eardrums tend to explode if I even LOOK at one, but I’ll just swallow a box of antihistamines and chew a Costco case of gum each way. And maybe scream epithets and random prayers during ascent and descent. All good.)

Really, what I am looking forward to most is the feeling of being away.

Of being warm and dry and sun-baked, like a lizard on a rock.

Of being free.

Of being separate from all the pressures and demands and questions and rituals of daily life.

Of having nothing to do but what I WANT to do, and no one to answer to but my fellow vacationers, who probably won’t mind that the beach and Peet’s coffee figure strongly into my plans for pretty much every day we’re in California.

For a non-vacation-y kind of girl, I’m getting really good at figuring out exactly what I need to escape. I assume I’ll only get better. And maybe even go some places other than San Diego (though really? SAN DIEGO, LET’S GET MARRIED.)

When we embarked on our getaway last year, I was hoping to get some distance from a long series of heartbreaking experiences that had left me raw, exhausted, and broken. I was trying to work out (not always effectively, mind you) issues with my health and my history — along with my own seeming inability to truly get past things that were holding me back.

I didn’t feel carefree.

I didn’t feel like good company.

I didn’t feel like anything I could do in the space of two weeks was really going to change me, even though I was willing to give it a valiant try.

But it did.

Oh, did it ever.

With every new freckle that appeared, I felt like my insides were shedding scars. With every goofy picture I took, I felt like my perspective was shifting slightly. With every lungful of fresh air I took in, I felt like I was re-learning how to breathe.

I couldn’t have done that sitting at home.

I’m not saying the ten months since then have been a cakewalk, or that road trips can cure anything that ails you (though I’m tempted to say that.)

What I AM saying, sweet Vacation, is that I can’t wait to see you again.

Love you forever,

Meg

So tired.

Tired enough to lose track of myself on the way to work, and get off at the wrong stop.

Tired enough to sign an email, “Mwf.”

Tired enough to require small hydraulic lifts to keep my eyes open.

Tired enough to be on my fourth cup of coffee and feel NOTHING.

We were up a little late last night, listening to music, eating ice cream, watching Alias DVD gag reels and generally harassing one another. And while I can usually stay up pretty late without repercussions, I think my body is finally starting to object to my habits:

WE ARE NO LONGER 25. WHERE IS THE BED?

This random and nerdy behaviour followed a really lovely dinner out with Eric (even though we had a showdown as to who would get to order the paella and ate the most garlic-laden hummus on the face of the earth and also? I looked like a vagrant in my damp, rolled-up jeans and sketch hair.

Fortunately, Eric did not point and laugh.)

He is going home today, and that’s a good thing, since he’s really annoying.

I’M KIDDING.

No, we’ll miss him (WAAAAAAAHHH), but I’ve also radically neglected my laundry and cleaning and general life maintenance to take on the “San Diego party lifestyle” for a week. I actually wore the same shirt twice without washing it the other day, and that NEVER happens to Captain OCD (yes, I know washing things too often is bad for them. SO BE IT.)

Besides having the Eric about, I’ll miss being a part of Catherine’s nocturnal angst. When I would accidentally brush by her in her sleep (on a futon on the floor in my bedroom during Eric’s stay) or come into the room after she’d gone to bed, or even just move on my bed, she would thrash violently and make horrified noises and grimace in disgust.

It’s honestly one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen, and she never remembers it in the morning. OR SO SHE SAYS.

I should start sleep pinching people. “What, I WASN’T AWAKE!”

Anyway, I’m too mentally garbled to offer much of value for now, but I do have some invasive and personal questions for you to answer!

YAY!

1. Do you do anything weird in your sleep?
2. What is your favourite word today?
3. If you could choose one smell to smell right now, what would it be?
4. Last three songs that played on any musical device you own?
5. How is the summer treating you?
6. Does the term “lunchmeat” horrify you, too?
7. Why do I keep smashing off my big toenail in random incidents?