It is noon, Sunday–I swear the earth must briefly stop on its axis each Sunday at this time. Such dead stillness, everything frozen in motion, the sun holding its breath in the sky. It only lasts a short time–about as long as a daydream or the time it takes a cloud to blow by overhead.

If it could only pause a bit longer so I could get my laundry done without losing precious daylight.

E. and I got too excited about the prospect of going to Amsterdam to wait to find out if we can stay with her friend who lives there. We bought our tickets this morning and figured we would find a relatively inexpensive hotel if we had to. I’ve never been to Amsterdam before, only blown through Schipol on a layover. In high school, I briefly stayed with a Dutch family on a school trip to Europe. They were strawberry farmers and managed to incorporate the little buggers into just about every dish at meal time.

Hopefully this trip will not be wasted on me like that one was. I spent so much time trying to get in the pants of this girl from Cherry Hill, NJ that I missed out on most of the sights. It seemed a worthy goal back then, but I find I don’t recall the dim memory of her and the night I actually got into her pants–clumsily, after a fondue party in our hotel in Switzerland–as warmly as I do seeing the Mona Lisa or the Austrian Alps. Besides, I am pretty sure E. is going to give me some action right off the bat.

Look, it is almost 4:30 now, and the noontime lag has swung in the opposite direction now and time is rushing ahead, racing the clock hands and leaving me out of breath.