Because of the way my job's set up, I spend six months every two years working lots of hours, thus racking up an obscene amount of leave time.
I still have some to burn, so I took the rest of the week off to, uh, ease my transition back into town. This transition has included margaritas at lunch, sock shopping, art projects, beer, and staying up late to watch weather porn (actually, that wasn't so much fun as terrifying because Eric's mom was riding out the hurricane about 15 miles inland, but everyone's okay). Tonight I'm hanging out with some friends, some of whom have been out of town longer than I have, and I don't know what I'm doing tomorrow. I'm sure it won't be onerous, whatever it is.
Before you tell me to drop dead, picture me in May. I'll be crabby and disoriented in the middle of a twenty-one day workweek while you're doing stuff like planting your garden or drinking pitchers on a patio or whatever other sick shit you get off on. Happy?