It's Sunday morning. I'm sitting on a bench in the park as I write. My vacation is all but over. I didn't accomplish much these last two weeks, which provokes a tinge of guilt in me, even though I specifically planned not to do anything too productive. I spent most of my time walking around the city, as planned, ostensibly to take photographs, which I did, but honestly, I don't need much pretense to get outside and roam around, no matter the weather. All of this not getting things done provided me a much-needed rest, though these times of Delta rising make relaxing unlikely. If I had a few months to myself, I think I could manage it and come away in a good headspace to do something exciting and worthwhile with my imaginary future. Unfortunately, I'm a wage slave like everyone else and must return to the virtual office tomorrow morning. Perhaps I'll take an entire month off next time — even if I have to pay for some of the time out of pocket.