I used to travel, but I don't care about that anymore. Meanwhile, I get seriously happy at the thought of just chilling out. Stay home. Relax. I've got, to me, a real comfortable place.
Maybe I'll want to travel again when I'm 45, but now, at 41, this is where I'm at when it comes to this. It's my current phase.
MY BIG MARCH VACATION PLANS:
I just adopted a new cat yesterday. My second. A six-month-old boy who was crawling all over me at the shelter and getting bullied openly, in the just half-hour I was there, by some of the other cats. I had to help him. I now need to get him and my other cat, a ten-month-old girl, to get along. So far, it looks promising.
Finish a couple half-written articles.
Watch some movies.
Write some stupid reviews of those movies.
Have a few extravagant breakfasts.
Finish the terrifically trashy John D. MacDonald novel (CLEMMIE) that I started Sunday.
Don't get electrocuted or impaled or violently gouged by anything.
Mop the floor.