August 2, 1998
I have spent this entire weekend deliciously unplugged from the world.
No phone. No TV. No visitors. No errands. No e-mail, and only very limited online conversation, mostly just to reassure a couple of people that I'm still breathing.
I had a List Of Stuff To Do a mile and a half long when the weekend began. For one thing, I was supposed to take the bus across town and house-sit for *Someone* (while *Someone* and his son are out of town ... and yeah, we're back to trying to be "friends," altho I've probably just fudked THAT up again by bailing out on the house-sitting obligation). I was supposed to clean my apartment. I was supposed to do laundry. I was supposed to write to my mom and pay my library fines and balance my checkbook and talk to my landlord about the broken toilet seat. I was supposed to finish nailing down the Greyhound info, in order to get my son here for a visit next weekend. I was supposed to exfoliate and recycle and anti-bacterialize.
Instead ... I've spent the weekend in a Cone of Silence. Exiled. Solitary Confinement.
I slept ... a LOT. I read. I listened to 60's surf music. I cruised the 'Net for everything I can possibly find on cyber journals, non-custodial moms and ingrown toenails. I cooked myself a couple of actual meals. I sat in a bathtub and read a magazine. I uploaded a ton of photos to this website.
Do I feel at all guilty about all of this?
Naturally. I'll probably spend the next couple of days trying to make it up to everybody I've *neglected.*
Would I spend the weekend exactly the same way, if I had it to do over again?
You'd better believe it.