If not now, when?

One American woman. Twenty acres and a 1650 farmhouse in Tuscany. Random introspection and hilarity, depending on the day.

10 August 2006

Banging my tin can against the bars

No, kids, Viaggiatore is not normally a whiny sourpuss. In fact, I'm almost twistedly chipper most of the time (better living through chemistry, to be sure).

But on rare occasions, I can be a whiny insufferable bitch. (No, we don't need testimonials to this effect, but thanks for offering, The Mom.) To finally be BACK and yet be trapped under the very large rock of things-that-must-be-done-and-done-FAST-in-ye-ole-day-job is a major bummer.

A 12 to 14 hour workday chained to not one but two computers, with only a glimpse of Tuscany out the window is something akin to Chinese water torture (or, I imagine, any other kind of torture).

I have 14 days of unused vacation from last year that in theory expired last month. The entirety of Italy is "in ferie" (on vacation) and yet here I sit.

Other than the spectacular sunsets (visible from aforementioned window) and cheap but fab house wine (Chianti of course), I might as well be in a hotel in West Des Moines.

Work in paradise is still... work. Worse, actually, because paradise really is just out the window, not just a tantalizing screensaver. Like jail with a better view.

I know. I'm just feeling sorry for myself, because I (and everyone else I know) actually have to work for a living. This too will pass. And yes, I know that with all the horrors in the world I'm a spoiled brat for even typing this. I do know how lucky I am.

But in this fleeting moment, I am kinda wishing I was a trust fund baby. Any billionaires out there looking to adopt?