It's true. I'm sexy, smart, capable. Myrna Loy is waiting patiently for me in the afterlife. I work a fake job and have an endless stash of coffee and cigarettes at my disposal.
My vacation was a "working vacation". Sounds simple enough, right? Laptop + internet + coffee + cigarettes here and there throughout the week = work, the remainder = vacation.
Apparently the mind hears "vacation" and joyfully drowns out the rest. The reality was ten, eleven, twelve hour days working, with only the two or three CDs I remembered to pack helping pass the time, the idle hours then spent too tired to gallivant with drug-addicted pixies and bobby-soxers into the next day's sunrise.
Some days I'd give anything to be a coal miner.