It’s good to be home for a while. But it is not good to be stuck at home, with lots of places to go but no feet to go there. Well, I do have both feet, it’s just that one is nicely tinted in various shades of blue and black, with two and a half toes that look like sausages that are on the point of bursting, but not as burnt as they seemed to be yesterday. The ankle is still more swollen than is my usual self, and the knee and shin are…well…interestingly hued, to put it mildly. It hurts to walk faster than a casually nonchalant limp and if I stand or even sit too long with my foot down, it tells me I am being negligent and nasty in a very loud and strident voice.
So, with this, and with feeling rather sorry for myself, no matter how much I tell myself however sternly that I am not that kind of person, I have been wandering vaguely around the apartment occasionally coochie-cooing with Small Cat, annoying Father and, in sheer self-defence, sleeping a lot more than I normally do. I have read a lot more of the newspapers and books and magazines scattered about and am looking with some degree of desperation at the vast array of bookshelves that line the study walls for more that is readable when lying down or at least with one leg up higher than is easy to balance when sitting. And the mood is more than wontedly sensitive – pain, annoyance at my own amazing grace, fear at the thought that perhaps more damage was caused than is known and irritation that results from cabin fever are starting to set it with a vengeance. So every now and then I indulge in a bout of self-pitying sniffling, pairing it with a bawl to Small Cat and a wail at poor Father.
I did want a vacation. But a VACATION, not a break from the dreary routine at work where I sit drearily at home wondering what to do with myself. I could have done myself proud at the beauty salon (he he he – me??), or started my long-promised exercise routine or even just done meandering walks to deal with that annoying new bulge in various parts of me, but…sigh. When I actually get to take a break, I find myself doing almost literally just that – suspected break, proven not-break, then enforced break, if you know what I mean.
What do I normally do when I take time off? I am not sure, actually, since it has been a while since I have taken time off to do it. The last time I was on a break, my friend was here from the US and we careened madly about town “getting stuff done”. I still need a holiday to recover from that one, I think. Before that, I was at home for about ten days, trying to get over a spell of the dizzies, as you may have read in a previous blog (if you ever read a previous blog, that is). And before that…oh, yes, before that I did actually take a real break, wandering off to see buddy in Delhi, eating a lot and meeting old friends with the pleasure that only a genuine holiday can bring.
Holidays are a rare species these days, in most people’s lives. Father has not been on a holiday in forever, I think, the last time perhaps when he came to visit me in Delhi during the time I was temporarily based there. Small Cat, of course, has a busy day every day, as has been the norm in her fairly short almost-two-year life so far, what with singing lessons at the crack of dawn, then breakfast, then a mad chase after Father or me or a feather, then dodging the maid as she cleans the house, then a snack, then – the most vital element that she must deal with through the day – a nap, then more chase, then more food, occasional potty breaks and water-bowl visits…oh, the work never stops!
There are those who know how to take holidays. Some people fly off to Morocco or the Maldives, others drive into the mountains or go skiing, a few even luxuriate in a spa or a meditation centre. And one day, this family will understand what a break is really all about, refrain from self-damage of any kind, and actually take time off to do absolutely nothing that could possibly be defined as ‘work’.
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