12:12 a.m. Oh my. Will this weekend never end? I've already run out of leisure and I'm all caught up on sleep and I've even turned the printer off.

I am unsure what to do next. I've trimmed all the fence bushes, front and back. Swept the front sidewalk and clippered the grass edges. Twiddling my thumbs here. Even swept the dead leaves out of the groove the electric gate rides in. I've printed out the entries for the month of May, and did I mention that I'm finally caught up with sleeping?

Out on a limb. At loose ends. Don't know which way the wind is going to blow next. Having a really -- really -- hard time vacationing. It's a strange sensation to describe -- neither fish nor fowl -- and there's no use getting too used to it because come Tuesday I will not be on vacation any more. Thank the lonely heavens and the heavy stars.

Tonight we watched some movies, had a relaxed, leisurely dinner, a few glasses of wine -- did I mention that we were trying to vacate? My office is strangely silent without the insistent beeping and whirring of the paper chase. The world behind the computer monitor is in a state of suspended frenzy, and all is calm and quiet.

I had the really uncomfortable task of watching Sixth Sense tonight when I already knew the Secret from the very beginning. I'd assumed, of course, that there was more to the movie than just the Big Secret. But that is not the case. It was David Letterman, in an article for the January Esquire Dubious Achievements Awards issue, on the last page of the magazine, who gave the ending away. Just for the record.

Let me tell you -- it was just awful. It was like watching a magic act from the backside of the stage and seeing the lady crawling in and out of the arm-hole box. I totally knew what was going on the whole time, and it was utterly transparent and not all that much fun. Igor, of course, was riveted and surprised and entertained and I wasn't even scared and didn't really need the lights on and ho hum.

So, that wasn't much of a recreational moment. Next?

Today was, of course, the pivot day that all three-day weekends contain. By tomorrow, I'll just be getting into the swing of a more relaxed way of life -- sleep in, roll over, sleep some more ... read the paper ... have another coffee ... I could really get used to this sort of pace ... what do you want to do today? ... Sure ... boat sounds good ... let's grab some lunch and amble on down to the docks ...

And then just as I begin to see the distinct possibilities in a life of leisure, the evening will descend and the pace will quicken and I, for one, will be very, very happy.

This vacation stuff is for the birds.