Why You Should NEVER Go On Vacation
Jun. 16th, 2022 07:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mallorys_cameraLatest with the trip saga: The very pleasant BookingVault agent called me yesterday evening to tell me Swiss Air has booked me on later flights to the same places the same day.
But I have not yet received the e-tickets.
So, who fucking knows?
I do think the agency is acting in good faith. They’re rated well on TrustPilot.
But they don’t control the airline, and who fucking knows what’s going on with Swiss Air?
I’m kinda thinking I should proceed as though the trip is all systems go—except I am so stressed out that I’m highly dysfunctional. Yesterday was one long ordeal of misplaced keys and phones, and general inability to do anything useful.
Today, I should get a PCR COVID test; call my credit cards to let them know that no, that hot rocks massage at L' Essenza del Benessere is not being charged by a Mafia wife on purloined plastic but by me-e-eeeeeee; stock up on cash that can be converted to Euros; and get that 10-day text-and-phone-call add-on from AT&T—because if Swiss Air has fucked up my departure date so grandly, God knows what they’re gonna do to my return flight, right? I could spend my entire vacation on the phone with the pleasant BookingVault agent.
But I am feeling whack.
I am not wanting to do practical things.
I am wanting to spend the day in bed sipping the bourbon that I finally tottered out around 5pm yesterday to buy because it finally dawned on me, You need to be fucked up.
###
I hardly drink alcohol these days. I consider the gummies I popped on a nearly daily basis throughout December and January to have been medicinal: They stalled my seasonal affective disorder. And except for that gummie spree with Max in April, I haven’t done them since.
It’s not that I disapprove of consciousness alteration.
It’s just that I have come to realize that my resting state is already one of altered consciousness.
I think very peculiarly.
It’s kind of fun to think peculiarly.
For me to buy bourbon with the express purpose of getting shit-faced is a major thing.
###
I’m contending with warring internal voices. They’re a pain in the ass!
One of those voices sez, Privilege, privilege, privilege. What the hell does it matter if you don’t get to go on vacation? Are you a Yemeni child dying of starvation? No!!!! Stop whining!
The other voice sez, You’re just not very important. That’s why things go wrong for you. The Universe doesn’t care about you. Nobody cares about you, if you want to get right down to it.
Bourbon makes those voices shut up.
Though heroin would be better.
###
So, who knows what’s going to happen?
Not me!
Of course, that’s really the way the world always works, isn’t it?
Except most of the time, you’re insulated from recognizing that.
But I have not yet received the e-tickets.
So, who fucking knows?
I do think the agency is acting in good faith. They’re rated well on TrustPilot.
But they don’t control the airline, and who fucking knows what’s going on with Swiss Air?
I’m kinda thinking I should proceed as though the trip is all systems go—except I am so stressed out that I’m highly dysfunctional. Yesterday was one long ordeal of misplaced keys and phones, and general inability to do anything useful.
Today, I should get a PCR COVID test; call my credit cards to let them know that no, that hot rocks massage at L' Essenza del Benessere is not being charged by a Mafia wife on purloined plastic but by me-e-eeeeeee; stock up on cash that can be converted to Euros; and get that 10-day text-and-phone-call add-on from AT&T—because if Swiss Air has fucked up my departure date so grandly, God knows what they’re gonna do to my return flight, right? I could spend my entire vacation on the phone with the pleasant BookingVault agent.
But I am feeling whack.
I am not wanting to do practical things.
I am wanting to spend the day in bed sipping the bourbon that I finally tottered out around 5pm yesterday to buy because it finally dawned on me, You need to be fucked up.
###
I hardly drink alcohol these days. I consider the gummies I popped on a nearly daily basis throughout December and January to have been medicinal: They stalled my seasonal affective disorder. And except for that gummie spree with Max in April, I haven’t done them since.
It’s not that I disapprove of consciousness alteration.
It’s just that I have come to realize that my resting state is already one of altered consciousness.
I think very peculiarly.
It’s kind of fun to think peculiarly.
For me to buy bourbon with the express purpose of getting shit-faced is a major thing.
###
I’m contending with warring internal voices. They’re a pain in the ass!
One of those voices sez, Privilege, privilege, privilege. What the hell does it matter if you don’t get to go on vacation? Are you a Yemeni child dying of starvation? No!!!! Stop whining!
The other voice sez, You’re just not very important. That’s why things go wrong for you. The Universe doesn’t care about you. Nobody cares about you, if you want to get right down to it.
Bourbon makes those voices shut up.
Though heroin would be better.
###
So, who knows what’s going to happen?
Not me!
Of course, that’s really the way the world always works, isn’t it?
Except most of the time, you’re insulated from recognizing that.
