Ooooooh. Hammock.

“So few people come here and really make themselves at home. You went out there and slept like a baby.”

I’ll say.

Don’t hate me because I’m here. I’ve been here for most of the afternoon. Most of it asleep.

What was a petulant moment of “I’m paying for the comfort, so I’m going to get my money’s worth” became “Ooooooh. Hammock.”I came out here, right around noon, to the little hammock tucked in the corner of the screened-in porch. I’d never gotten in a hammock before. After one aborted try, I managed to wiggle into a workable position, and then began to understand the appeal.

I realized I had the perfect text message opportunity. I tapped out letters to the gentle rocking rhythm of the hammock, writing a message in such a way that would guarantee the maximum hatred of the friends that would receive it…then textbombed them all with it.

Think of it as an instantaneous postcard with extra snark.

* * * * *

Three hours passed. I dozed. (A little birdie told me later that Jeff did the same in our room.)

He woke me a few hours later to tell me that instead of making lunch plans, he’d eaten the snacks Adele left in our room. He added that I should take care of whatever food cravings I had in whatever way I saw fit.

I nodded. I think my eyes closed before he got back inside the house. I dozed off for another hour, rocking gently, listening to the whir of nearby traffic overlaid by the chirping of birds.

When I woke up, it was past three p.m. I knew it was too late for a real lunch, but that snackage could be obtained. After all, this was the Virginia Highland area. Cute shops were everywhere. Some, surely, would have food.

I walked into our room with a yawn, a lazy grin, and a declaration. “The only way this afternoon could get any better would be if we went for ice cream.”

Luckily, we were fewer than five minutes from a Ben & Jerry’s shop. I had my favorite flavor of Ben & Jerry’s (note to all: domesticats are bribable with Phish Food) and Jeff had an iced latte with double espresso.

My caffeine-sensitive brain reeled at the thought. I soothed it with ice cream.

Jeff went back to his bed and his book. I got back in the hammock, with my arms propped up over my head, and rocked until my thoughts drifted away and my eyes, undoubtedly, shut.

* * * * *

But here I am again - 5:14 p.m., lazily scrawling away in my notebook to the swings of the hammock. Whenever someone (usually Adele) comes by, I get a free push, prolonging the happiness.

I wouldn’t say this is the life, oh no. Days like this can’t come too close together, or you lose your ability to appreciate their specialness.

I will admit, though, with no degree of shame, that aside from exchanging oxygen for carbon dioxide, my only plans for the next hour involve watching my newly-blued nails dry.

* * * * *

I dozed off again.

Some time later, the beeping of my cell phone awakened me. It held two messages of loathing from friends. Mission accomplished.

Tonight, we’ll watch the taping of Brian’s cable-access show, and then head out to our currently-unknown dinner destination. I like the idea of a belated Doc Chey’s run, but a practical part of me points out that Doc Chey’s would make a mighty fine lunch tomorrow, too.

Last night, it was Moroccan food and belly dancers.

Hammock…lulling…must…resist.

* * * * *

(The notes ended here.)