Vacation Week

This week I'm on vacation. As a behind-the-curve human, I am thirty-seven years old and for the first time in my life, I am being paid to not be at work.
Oh, glee I thought when I contemplated having a week to myself, not realizing that my life was so small, my attention span so finite, that this could acutally be a bad and painful thing.
My goals were simple for this week. Clean. Organize. Watch (movies, that is). Write (various projects lay in diverse stages of stagnation).
Cleaning. Check.
Organizing. Check.
Watch. Er, not right now. Sitting in one chair for two hours is a frightening thought to me at this moment.
Write. Uhh...later, when I can remove my cranium from my rectum.
Now what to do with the other six-and-three-quarters days at my disposal?
I went and visited my Mum. She's sixty-nine and alone, so I do this often.
Ooo! Music! I just picked up a nice live recording of John Coltrane's "A Love Supreme".
(pause for 39:47)
That's the stuff. I will always be bitter that I was not twenty-one in 1940 so that I could go to seedy dives and witness live shows of jazz masters for the next twenty years.. Coltrane, Davis, Sanders, Monk, espcially Monk. If you don't know what it is about jazz that makes people swoon, pick up Thelonious Monk and John Coltrane's "Live at Carnegie Hall". If this doesn't sway you, you may be lost forever.
I've got time on my hands now. It's a bit discouraging as an adult human to have to train yourself to focus and achieve. Shouldn't I have mastered this concept in middle school?
Ah, well. I've got time right now to relax and prioritize.
Good day to you sir and madam.