The calendar for June is daunting, so this week was our last chance to get the little life stuff out of the way before a brief don’t-tempt-the-fates pre-travel lockdown.

We used to have this whole distinction between "trips" and "vacations", where the latter is sort of a test of exclusion that only "laying very still by a body of water while being handed little umbrellaed beverages" satisfies. I think my personal definition is shifting as time goes on, and I reluctantly acknowledge that its often not worth trekking all the way to a place without doing and seeing the things you’re supposed to do and see there^[1].

To channel John & Merlin^[2], I mostly like being places, I don’t particularly enjoy getting to places, and I’m especially not wild about being away from my place. There’s just too much ambient anxiety to channel into if the flowers are getting enough water or the basement is getting too much.

The especially annoying thing about an anxious mind is that if something actually does go wrong, you just sort of effortlessly shift into that higher gear and smoothly solve the problem. It’s the maybe that kills you.

Speaking of: we’ve got some daring flight connections coming up, so pray for Mojo.