Unannounced Vacations
The thing about unannounced vacations is that they sneak up on you all of a sudden, bonk you on the head with their lawn chairs, and then run off into the distance. By the time you realize what’s happened, over two weeks have passed since you last spent any time in the real, conscious world.
All of your friends have wondered where you were, but you have no idea. That unexpected vacation gave you some severe short-term amnesia, and the last two weeks are simply missing from your life.
It’s a little disconcerting, to be honest. Did you spend those weeks on a flying saucer, being an unwilling subject in some alien race’s exploration into the human body? Did it involve chocolate syrup and cocoa beans? Did they at least have the decency to buy you a puppy first?
Or were your weeks spent relaxing on a secluded, private beach somewhere in Kentucky, America, sipping Molotov cocktails and dancing contentedly under the mean, raging fireball that used to be our Sun?
But as much as you wrack your brain(s) trying to figure out the answer, it is impossible. Such is the magic of the unannounced vacation. It is clean, untraceable, and no one will ever know what it did to you.
All you can really do is pick up the torn and shredded scraps of your life, tape them back together as best you can, and move on. Just keep going forward, never looking back. Don’t let the sun set on your future, keep the setting sun on your back and in your past. The future should be full of the moon and Mars, together at last in front of your back and setting the stage for your greatest days ever.
Stupid vacations.