I like vacations.
There are times when I can’t stop thinking about them. Dreaming about them. At least when they include a destination I’ve
been to and enjoyed. But it’s still not
so much the destination as the feelings it evokes. I see a picture of a lake and I remember
being there. Relaxed, feeling the warmth
of the sun, the rolling of the waves. Being
with family under the best of circumstances.
I do sometimes wish I could take more people. I like my little clan of three, but I think I
like the idea of including others in the dream, if the dream is even
sharable. “Bank job in the city.” Not far from where I am. Accounting job in the city. Not much space for the creative mind. Where does the soul hide while on the
clock? And you can’t just move
there. Because it’s not the
destination. Can you move to a
feeling? Does an ideal have boundaries
you can permanently cross into? I open
the gates and cross the threshold only to exit what I had just entered. It’s a curtain, a veil, a fleeting memory, a
dying dream. But still a picture brings
me back. The clock is ticking. It’s punched.
I step out the door and am turned around, back at the clock, again and
again and again.
I really like
vacations.
