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  • Dreaming of getaways, I simply give up. I decide on Vodka, Soda, and a splash of white cranberry peach juice, and I am at the pool by 12:30pm. I create my own Cabana of sorts, complete with a shade (the base and umbrella from a nearby table set up, lounge chair (there are plenty free), and an end table (a properly placed chair (from the already pillaged nearby table set). I finally finish Tea Obreht’s, The Tiger’s Wife. Somehow, it has taken me 6 months. It is an excellent book. The problem is that motivation has almost completely left me. I’m not sure why exactly. Could be a number of things really:

    1) I have been absolutely obsessed with the idea of efficiency. Nothing other than the most efficient way is tolerable. It is a wholly intolerable way to live, as everything fails perfection somehow.

    2) This Crazy Heat & Weather. 100 degrees for days on end, Humid as hell, air quality warnings – Ground Ozone?; severe thunderstorms almost daily, tornadoes – same frequency, a good part of the city without power, stoplights not working, and tree branches broken and laying on the ground everywhere.

    3) This Impending, Ill-Placed Holiday. My favorite one of the year I may add -- the Fourth of July. This year it falls right in the middle of the week, and it is really encouraging for me, and apparently many others, to simple take the whole week off, and start fresh on Monday next. 4 vacation days gets you 9 days off. Seems likes a good deal to me. But really there is no such thing, and every deal has a drawback or two, no matter how good it seems.

    4) I have spent too many weekdays alone lately. It is never good for me to spend too much time left with only my thoughts. Nothing great every seems to come of it.

    I say, “My main concern is finding shade and staying hydrated.” As if I am some kind of Pirate, hunkering down on a dessert island. Do not be ridiculous, as if the apartment is not set to 71 degrees, and the shades are drawn.

    My main concern really is this unreliable inspiration I am wrestling with; it comes and it goes. There seems to be no way to coddle or coax it out. It is a finicky little mouse, always cowering with its’ whiskers right at the edge of its’ little hole. It never seems to take the bait, pops out when you are least ready for it, then quickly retreats again.

    I open up Conde Nast’s “The Hot List: 121 Best New Hotels of 2012” and as the temperature in the shade becomes almost unbearable, I sip my tropical drink and drift off to The Hotel Pulitzer, in beautiful Buenos Aires.
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