Chicken Little said the Sky was Falling

The Hash Slinging Slasher mutters from the center of the room. The sky is falling... Maybe too dramatic. I may have a problem relaxing. Vacationing this week: Visited the snow; Did 9 loads of laundry; Spent the day with Snoopy at Knott's Berry Farm; Did a "little" work to insure a smooth return to business as usual next week; Spent time at the favorite shopping spots; (Costco, Wal-Mart, Trader Joe's) Stayed up way too late strung out on Magnolia more than once. Had one wonderful day at The Evil Empire... Did we "vacation?" I ask the loaded question to illustrate how I seem to do things. Go go go! Fill every moment. Watch the clock. Push. Say it again: I may have a problem relaxing. The subject arises at the present time because it's now Saturday. Okay, okay, I have done two loads of laundry, but sonofabitch, I've done nothing else. Six episodes of Foster's, three cat naps, un-bathed children still in their jammies. I can't take it. But I must. Disney sucked the life from me. So I sit. Lie down. I think about what I should be doing. Les'see, I really should clean up the office. Should'a placed that order for steak knives days ago. Planned on re-organizing my account list. The floors are dusty. The bathroom needs cleaning. What in the hell is my problem?

Next vacation, I'm getting on a ship.