Who cares what I do. Five days of nothing is great, too.

I'd had two days planned to take off in August. I was going to go to Cincinnati and see family, and send my Wisconsin self postcards from Ohio, and bring back Skyline chili dip for Dave. But then something came up. I suddenly had two days of vacation that I didn't plan on. Two. Whole. Days.

I debated whether to take them anyhow, just for fun, or to save them for a rainy day. But my first year of work, I let a couple vacation days expire (my reward is in heaven, I'm sure) because, well, it just didn't rain.

But then ... it hit me. I could have what I've been whining about all year. I could add them on to my long-ish weekend I'd planned for October. Eureka.

All my moping was not in vain. I now have a week's vacation this year -- and I don't even care what I do.

I'm going to be counting the days until I can lay on the couch for three days straight, or go stay in some cookie-cutter hotel with a continental breakfast and CABLE TV, or go shopping at Ikea, or eat pizza and go to bed at 3 a.m., only to wake up at noon to eat more cold pizza.

Who am I kidding. I'll be in bed by 9. THAT'S a vacation. October rules. And, coincidentally, it's on our anniversary. So, there's that.