BOOK
I just finished reading Wild by Cheryl Strayed.  I can’t tell you what this book did to my heart – to my dreams.  I can tell you that wherever life takes me next, I’m going on a major backpacking trip first.  If you know me at all, you’ve already heard me talk about it.

SONG
Say what you will about Taylor Swift’s latest album, but I can tell you this: “All Too Well” is classic Taylor, and it hits me in the gut.

QUOTE
“How we spend our minutes is how we spend our lives.”  I don’t know who’s credited with coining that phrase, but it’s hitting home for me these days.  I want to spend my minutes well – which means, ugh, maybe I need to stop watching “Dawson’s Creek” on Netflix.

PLAN
I recently volunteered to be bumped from a flight in exchange for a travel voucher.  I’ve decided that I want to use it on a solo vacation somewhere peaceful in early 2013.  Requirements: a beach, a kitchen, and plenty of quiet.  Any ideas for where I should go?

Next week, I am taking the entire week off of work. The entire week.

For vacation.

I don’t think I have ever had an entire week of vacation, ever in my life. I’ve taken 7-day stretches off of work, but have used them for crazy travel plans (ping-pong flights, weddings, road-trips, holidays, family events). Never have I ever taken a solid Monday through Friday with weekends on both ends, and decided to stay put.

This is my only plan: do not leave Colorado.

Except, that’s not true. You all know that I’ve planned it a bit more than that. In fact, last week, someone who knows me better than I thought called me out on it: “I don’t believe you. You totally have the week planned out.”

I denied it, because technically, I don’t know what’s going to happen when.

But he was totally right.

Here are some of my hopes for the week:
-Climb 3 mountains
-Snuggle my visiting nephews
-Go to the Denver Zoo
-See the final installment of “Harry Potter”
-Get a massage
-Turn 29-years old
-Go for ice cream

Because as long as I can plan on it, the spontaneous will come easily.

Any other ideas of what I should do with my “unplanned” time off? What would you do?

Memorial Day weekend.  Aren’t you so glad?

My very long hair is currently twisted into two tight French braids, which I will release tomorrow into a crazy mane.

I am heading to Home Depot tonight to get the supplies to refinish some bedroom furniture.  If it turns out well, expect a celebratory picture post.  If it doesn’t, forget I ever said anything.

Other plans this weekend include several hikes, making Monika’s spinach zucchini pancakes, and reading Shania’s autobiography (naturally).

Care to share your holiday weekend plans?

Monday was a paid holiday, and I am taking tomorrow and Friday off.  That makes this a 2 day work week, and today my Friday.  Amen.

I’m not very good at “vacation.”  I travel a lot, and use every minute of the (very generous) vacation time that I am given – but I never take the time to just relax.  Relaxing makes me feel lazy – I’m too task-oriented and high-strung to relax*.  If I take time off, it is usually because I am flying to a wedding, or hitting the proverbial road, or spending a busy long weekend with friends – or, in the case of this week, climbing mountains and screaming at total strangers.

Let’s start with the first thing: climbing mountains.  Over the weekend, I absolutely destroyed the knuckles on my left hand.  How do I always wind up with bloody knuckles?  I mean, honestly – am I a Neanderthal, dragging my hands on the gravel behind me?  I never remember scraping them – I just look down and realize, “Oh, there are my bones.”  “Oh, there is blood.”  And then I spend the next 10 days breaking open the scabs every time I bend my fingers.

Type type type.  This is a sacrifice.

We’ll see if the weather allows for me to climb two 14ers in the next couple of days.

As for the screaming at total strangers, well – when two pit bulls attacked my dear old dog Rowdy, snarling and growling and biting, and their owner made no move to stop them, it felt like a fair trade.  Your dog snaps, I snap.

Obscenities were screamed (yes, the worst of the bad words), as well as a threat to call the police.  It was out of control.  I was out of control.

Maybe I need a vacation after all.

*I need** an intervention.  Seriously.  I don’t think I will ever relax unless someone hog-ties me and forces me to.

**You know what ELSE I need?   Seven fillings.  I went to the dentist and they found SEVEN cavities.  I have excellent dental hygiene, and haven’t had a cavity in 10 years.  What is going ON?  It’s going to be a 4-hour torture session (not to mention a hefty wad of cash) to get these bad boys taken care of.

Gah, I say.  GAH.

I am resurrecting from the blog-dead.

Maybe if I say it out loud, it will stick.

Where have I been?  Oh, you know.  Working.  Working out.  Thinking.  Reading.  Watching some more “Friday Night Lights.”  Breathing.

I spent the long weekend in Colorado Springs at my parent’s new house – they moved in June, and I hadn’t made it out until now.  Their new house is a charmer, and the Springs is a beautiful city.  On Saturday morning, we hiked the Incline, a stretch of old railroad tracks that go straight (no, seriously: STRAIGHT) up a mountain side – 2,000 feet of elevation gain in less than a mile, and then a 4-mile hike down.

To give you an idea:

I was pleasantly surprised to wake up the following morning to find that I wasn’t even sore.  Who’s been working out?  [Thumbs] This girl.

Another great thing about the weekend was hanging out with our 3 dogs, Rowdy, Maci, and Kodi.  There is something great about having dogs around.  They don’t need you to say anything, and they don’t need to talk.  They just provide pleasant company – sometimes some vomit on the floor, but mostly, just pleasant company.

On the flight out to Denver, I saw a gorgeous man.  He was so attractive: tall and bearded and broad-shouldered and manly – rugged, like Aragorn.  I didn’t talk to him, though – so the next best thing would be to mention him here.  I’m just reminding myself that I do, in fact, have a heart that beats.

On the flight back to Nashville, I recognized two outrageously successful songwriters who happen to be married, and introduced myself to them.  When I did, the woman fell all over herself: “You’re… Annie PARsons?  THE Annie Parsons?”  My heart stopped – this woman KNEW WHO I WAS?  I mean, word travels fast – especially in Nashville – and I know that I’m AMAZING (there is such a need for a Sarcasm font), but could it be that someone who wrote a CMA and ACM Song of the Year had stumbled across my name?

But then.  I had to correct her.  No, she did not used to babysit for me when she was in high school.

Sigh.  Steady on.

Today, I am back to reality – back to Nashville, back to the heat, back to work, back to the gym, back to balancing my checkbook, back to routine, back to a schedule.

It feels quite wretched, so much so that I accidentally started bawling last night when I got back – “accidentally” being that I didn’t mean to… it just happened.  Then Julie and Mel and I laid in a circle on my bedroom floor, each of us curled on our side, and I felt a little bit better.

But returning from vacation can feel unstomachable – especially when the previous 12 days had been full of so many good things: family, mountains, ocean, orcas, food, wine, Seattle, music, friends, and dancing to Backstreet Boy’s “Larger Than Life” at Miranda and Will’s wedding.

1999 never sounded so good.  Not even in 1999.

In my absence from real life (i.e. The Internet), I missed Michael Jackson’s funeral, Steve McNair’s murder, Sarah Palin’s resignation, any 4th of July festivities, and the electric bill.  Also, I gained 10 lbs.

Not that I know.  But I KNOW.

I’m overwhelmed with all that I have to catch up on, make up for, rein in, cut out, and resume.  My inbox piled up with emails while I was away, but don’t worry – no one called me except for collections agencies looking for one “Daniel Perkins.”

Today, I sally forth, and will dig myself out of this funk.

After racing my dad to the top of Mt. Roberts in Juneau on Sunday, I spent some time walking around the town.  Which, of course, led to an interesting encounter – because do I ever elude the interesting encounters?

I met a greasy man on a street corner who took one look at me, and immediately, very excitedly – in one breath – said, “How long are you in town? Do you live here?  I’M A ROCK STAR!”

He proceeded to walk me back to the ship, and claim that he is not only a rock star, but a genius, a friend of the governor, and insane.  I believed him on one account.

After hearing that I live in Nashville, he informed me that he is moving to Nashville, and has a goal of getting a record deal by November 1 (“and by the way, do you think you could set me up with Michael W. Smith?”).  He gave me his phone number and his MySpace address, saying that I could spend “several months” on his MySpace page, there is so much to see.  He talked and talked and talked, spewing out eccentricities and grand statements about life, and without skipping a beat, ended with, “You know what?  Meeting me might be the highlight of your trip.”

I high-fived him, because maybe, dude.

But I’m leaning toward the night when the Parsons walked out onto the front deck of the ship while in open seas, thinking we could get some fun pictures, but not being prepared for the amount of SHEER TERROR the wind would bring, and after all of our dresses had blown up revealing whatever we had underneath, and hitting the deck to avoid being blown over the edge entirely, and Sarah’s driver’s license flying into the Pacific Ocean, and everyone holding hands for stability, and screaming our lungs out, and tears streaking our faces… realizing that the entire navigational crew was watching from their windows above.

No rock star, genius, insane man from Juneau can compete with the involuntary flashing of Polynesian men.

The cruise ship is a battle zone, and I am at war.

I refuse to gain a pound a day.

But this is proving to take some serious combat.

I wake up each morning and put on my armor: a reasonable breakfast of one egg over easy, a small bowl of cereal, and an Americano.  But after that, it is clear to me that the ms Zaandam wants me guillotined.

Their battle cry:
Free food! All day!
Stuff yourself at the buffet!

Over and over.  And over.  And starts again at 11pm.

I am notoriously thrifty, hate to waste anything, and to hear that something is free makes me want to take full advantage.  You mean to tell me that I can order three appetizers, an entrée, AND dessert?  Get down on it, mama.

Thankfully, there is a gym at the front of the ship, and I’ve been running off 19,000 calories every day.  I have also taken on the identity of Elevator Hater, and walk the 8 flights of stairs at least 12 times each day.  In heels.

This is my martyrdom.  Because if you haven’t gorged yourself on mussels, bread, scallops, cheese trays, salmon, filet mignon, cookies, papaya, guacamole, pasta, and hot fudge brownie sundaes, washed it all down with wine and mojitos and margaritas, and then navigated 8 flights of stairs on a swaying ship in a cocktail dress and heels, then I’m sorry, my friend.

You do not know sacrifice.

This morning, I woke up in Seattle.

I am about to board a ship dedicated by Mary-Kate and Ashley in the year 2000.

If I get the chance, I will karaoke Huey Lewis and Gwyneth Paltrow’s “Cruisin’” with a stranger – and that is a promise.

Bon voyage!

Jeremy: “I have some great ideas for pictures on the cruise.”

Me: “Awesome!”

Jeremy: “I know.  There’s one shot that I’m positive I’ll have to get.”

Me: “Cool – what is it?”

Jeremy: “Well, it will be you, in some sort of dress.  And we’ll go to the very front of the boat.  And you’ll climb up on the railing, and spread out your arms.  And we’ll find a deckhand to come up behind you and whisper into your ear…”

Trust me: if we make this happen, you will be seeing it.