Home from Portland, and some of the finest old-school diner and kitschy Mexican food imaginable, to find that I am working not one, not two, but three modeling jobs tomorrow. Good lord, how did that happen? It was so nice to have a weekend where I didn't think once about work, or my outside responsibilities; just met nice people, learned interesting things, wandered through Powell's as promised, and spent good time with a friend. And then, bang! Six modeling gigs this week, and two catering; time to make the donuts.
I don't take enough vacations, I'm realizing. So often when I travel, even if it's intended to be fun, there's a work component: interviewing people or visiting particular places so I can sell writing about the trip. Even last year in Berlin I was carrying two huge binders of material so I could work on the museum project, which I did during the day while MonkeyScientist did his own writing in the other room.
I come from people who don't vacation... at least we didn't when I was a kid. Usually if we traveled en famille it was to Chicago at Christmas to see family and friends, which was stressful, or it was because one of my parents had some work-related thing to do in another city. I'm not complaining about that, just noting how the early pattern seems to inform my adult life.
Off to rehearsal, speaking of getting back to it. Hopefully it's warmer at the studio than it is in my apartment... yeesh.