Well, that was nine days off.  I go back to work tomorrow.  And along with the standard dread at the volume of mail waiting for me in my inbox when I go in, there’s also the usual feeling that I just didn’t do enough.

Last Friday when my vacation was starting, I had visions of all-day movie marathons, mammoth reading sessions, obsessive reorganizations of shelves, just jam-packed days of whatever I wanted to do.  And some days I managed that.  I played games for seven hours on New Year’s Day.  I tore through four movies on Friday.  I polished off the current book I was reading and got a good start on the next one.

But it always seemed like days were ending with me thinking, “Oh, didn’t get to that today, I guess I’ll get it tomorrow.”  I wanted to get out to the theater to catch up on some new releases, but the schedules were unkind.  I’d planned on a Lord of the Rings marathon, but couldn’t find the time.  I had some new games I got on Steam I wanted to dig into, but bowl games and the NFL playoffs proved too great a distraction.

And now here I am at the end of what should have been a relaxing week, and all I can muster is the sense that I wasted it.  That I left too many things on the table.  And this is probably the last good uninterrupted chunk of time off I’ll have for a while.  I remember as a kid how the two weeks off from school for Christmas and New Year’s felt like an eternity.  Now it passes in an instant.  Maybe I’ve accumulated so much time in my life that I barely sense its passing until it’s gone.

Oh well.  No sense bemoaning time spent.  Can’t go back and re-do it.  And it wasn’t like I didn’t enjoy myself.  I just wish there had been more of it.  Or that it had passed more slowly.


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