Don't knock today.

It's already been a twenty-hour day for me. But they have been mostly wonderful hours, filled with things for which I can pat myself on the back, or -- more importantly -- things about which I can scribble in my journal, probably in a self-congratulatory tone. My only complaint is that I'm not finished. I'm never finished. I never get to shut down and brush my hands together in an "I'm finished" gesture and do something else. It's all become this endless, linear thing with no demarcation whatever. My younger sister told me about the Lost Boys of the Sudan today. And I suppose I have less right to complain about a seemingly endless journey than they do. But I can only speak from this frame of reference I have. And from where I sit, I need a lengthy vacation. But such things aren't written in my book. I am forced to get my vacation feeling from trips to Whole Foods. There are a lot of things with foreign-sounding names there. If I hang out in the cheese section long enough, I can pretend I'm in France. It even smells funny.

Here's my vow to smell the cheese in France. Perhaps not before the year is out. But certainly before they stop selling cheese there.