Photo by Mykl Roventine.

"Venti-double-shot-decaf-vanilla-half sweet-caramel-mocha", shouts the Barnes and Noble, cafe barrista.  I am sitting at my 10 square inch bistro table trying desperately not to knock my chai off, along with my computer.  I am on vacation, have a babysitter, and am enjoying some solo time.  

When I am on vacation, I make promises to myself.  I will eat healthy.  I will catch up on sleep.  I will work out everyday.  I will find a fresh perspective for my job and my life.   Write more. "Gaawwkkzzz", a man clears his throat loudly at a table near mine.  I am momentarily distracted, as it seems rather productive, and I find myself swallowing as if to clear my own throat.

I did okay on some of those things.  I sleep great here...the bed is super firm and does not move with my restless husband in the night.  I wear two ear plugs to drown out his snoring, place my large size body hugging pillow smack in the middle of the bed and I sleep like a baby.   Our window looks out over desert mountains and I wake every morning to the sunrise, give or take an hour or two.

I got some shopping done.  I hate shopping.  Really I do.  It is like work to me.  When I shop it is because I have to.  When I find myself standing in my closet, staring at my wardrobe with disgust, I know it is time to suck it up and go shopping.  Maybe I'm not shopping at the right stores or maybe I just suck at picking stuff out, but inevitably,  I leave the changing rooms, brightly top-lit with hellish florescent lights with new lows for personal body image.  I am convinced that I am now the frumpy, middle aged women I have been terrified of becoming since I hit forty.  I get so busy hating on my body I run out of steam to admire the clothes.

I did exercise, no more or less that I do at home.  I went for a few longer runs in the warm desert mornings, enjoying the foreign territory, unsure of the distances until afterwards, when I drove it out.  Depending on my mood, I pick either music to motivate me (pulsing techno or bitch-killing rap) or serene soul music, that quiets the tension in my body, and brings me to a place of appreciation for the sweet punishment I am inflicting on my body.  My mind journeys through endless thoughts and puzzles out problems, my music so loud I cannot hear my breath or my foot falls.

When I work out, I enter my own ass kicking world.  Oh man I am one tough broad!  I lifted weights today, and found myself in a CORE strength competition with the dude on the next mat.  I am pathetically competitive, and most of these competitions exist solely in my head.

The cafe is filling.  It is near a mall and I am surrounded by people who love shopping.  They have bags and fancy purses and the children are mirrors of their mothers.  Everyone looks very busy, as they hover over their over-sized, overpriced beverages, loosely founded upon a good old fashioned cup o' joe. (I don't even like coffee!)  The book store is vast and viable, something that pleases me, as I love wandering around the stacks, choosing books like I choose wine, by the way the cover or label looks.

I ate okay on this trip.  When I am travelling though, I DESERVE stuff, like frozen yogurt every night or chocolate chip cookies.  I love kettle salt and vinegar chips.  On our first evening here I was diving into a bag.  The vinegar makes my scalp sweat and the acid in the chips numbs my tongue.  I lack any control what-so-ever to stop eating these once I start, and so turned to my husband and said, "I am going to need your help in a moment".

"For what?", he asked.

"Please, for the love of God, take these chips away from me!"  I begged, my hand plunging into the bag desperately for one more crispy handful.

I finished some work projects that I had been procrastinating on.  I was burning out a little at work and normally, I return from a vacation re-energized and focused on forward momentum.  I haven't given it that much thought this time though...I guess I am still burned out.  Summer is coming and I am ready to join in, but work has taken over my life again, and I am starting to resent it.

We had some good quality family time, including going to an insane indoor trampoline center called "Jump Street".  Our neighbors come here for spring break too, and it was their son's birthday.  This place literally is filled wall to wall with trampolines.  Some just for jumping, others leading into great foam pits and my personal favorite, the dodge ball courts.  They have three trampolines on either side and dozens of soft, leathery balls.  I enjoyed beaning my kids with these balls, leaving myself barely able to lift my arm the next day.  ("Hawwkkkzzzz!"....there that man goes again....I feel the need to spit!)

The only drawback with the jumping was the awareness of here-to-fore unnoticed pelvic floor weakness.  My greatest trampoline trick-the jumping split toe touch-left me feeling leaky!  I don't typically have these issues, but I guess the high intensity bouncing was more than any post-partum perineum can handle.

I have been stumped with writing, uninspired, no topics jumping to mind.  I couldn't even rally to blog about pubic hair or penises.  I love talking about penises!  Am I depressed?  I couldn't muster the energy to finish an online writing course I had been taking, letting the last few lectures and assignments slip by me.  I have less discretionary time right now, and have done well to at least get consistent exercise.

My chai is almost gone.  A medium is the perfect size to get a blog done.  It gets a little cold, but I don't mind, they ice them too these days.  The endless stream of indulgent people parades to the coffee counter, each pleased with their mastery of the language of the drink.  The phlegmy man has left, thank god.  We are all just killing time...looking busy...quietly entertaining ourselves.