All's well. But lots of shoulds on my plate, a lot of hullabaloo in my life, and oh man, I do not want to write my novel synopsis. I do not want to grade papers. I do not want to write my column. I do not want to blog. I have an idea for a nonfiction book -- kind of a memoir-y thing -- and I should be writing a proposal. But... I do not want to.

Nor do I want to call the plumber or the electrician. I don't want to get the car smogged. I don't want to do laundry, or fold it, and I don't want to wash dishes. I don't want to hang up my clothes. I don't want to water the plants.

I want to drink coffee and play Scrabulous. And do the Chronicle Magazine crossword puzzle. And go ramble in the woods with the dogs, and cook an awesome Oaxacan dinner, and drink beer while we eat it. I want to go weed the garden and space out in the sun. I want to make a reservation at Harbin to go hang in the warm pool and watch the deer and wild turkeys and the squirrels dancing in the fig trees. With my husband on the verge of leaving the country for months, I want a vacation that's not a work retreat.

While we're at it, I wouldn't mind getting my feet massaged with lavender oil while I recline, swathed in silk, and listen to soft jazz while attractive admirers feed me perfectly ripe Brillat Saverin cheese on slivers of Acme baguette and slices of anjou pear. Then they fold the laundry, fix the wiring in the downstairs room, take the car in, landscape the garden, reflap the toilet, grade my papers, help me find next month's column topic, nail the focus for my non-fiction book proposal, knock off a kickass novel synopsis, and refer me to the perfect agent.

Volunteers? Anyone? Hellooooo????