My coworker tweeted this blog about going on vacation and being (gasp!) unplugged. As I read it, the five stages of grief washed over me, much like the shores of the Atlantic must have washed over the writer during his time on OBX*. The red bits are my reaction to his vacation; the blue bits are my predictions on how I would act should I do the same.

Denial (No way did he actually unplug everything the whole time. It's not possible.) (I guarantee you I would cheat, which must mean he cheated, too.)
Anger (What an idiot! He could have missed some crucial breaking news!) (WHAT IF SOMEONE GOT MARRIED AND I DIDN'T SEE THEIR FACEBOOK PHOTOS RIGHT AWAY?)
Bargaining (Maybe he unplugged for, like, two days, but then plugged back in.) (I could do that. An hour on, an hour off. That wouldn't be too bad, and it would still count, right?)
Depression (What a sad vacation, to not be able to check your RSS. Just think of all the reading he must have needed to do upon his return!) (The thought of arriving home to an inbox filled with hundreds of unread emails, missed tweets, unseen photos, unread Jezebel posts - it's enough to ruin a vacation entirely.)
Acceptance (I mean...I guess that "unplugged" vacation could work for some people.) (Ohpleasegoddess, pleaseletitbefeasibleforme.)

The thing is, I talk a good game, but I LOVE the idea of being unplugged for long periods of time. But because of my job, I just can't make it happen without a lot of pre-planning. Which is okay, but it does mean that sometimes, on a rare Sunday, perhaps, after weeks of being plugged in 24/7, I find that I'm done. Had it. I just can't bring myself to click on my Reader or read that Facebook notification or check my Tweetdeck. I just, sometimes, need to pretend it's 1995 again and none of those things exist yet and all I have to worry about is which Tori concert I'll be hitting next and whether I should wear my brown Doc Martens or my red ones.

Anyway, kudos to that guy for having a completely unplugged vacation. I look forward to the next time I do that.

* That was me trying to be poetic. I failed.