Cam's idea of relaxation
It’s late morning. Sunday. We’ve had breakfast, and we’re sitting in our home office, looking at each other from our desks.

I’m still wearing my pyjamas and big floppy white socks. We’re both splayed out on our office chairs, facing each other. My legs are sprawled out in front of me; my posture is atrocious.

“I’ve got a lot of work I’ve got to do today,” I say. “What are you going to do today. It is Sunday, you know.”

“I think I’m just going to relax today.” He says. “Maybe I’ll lay on the couch.”

“That sounds great,” I say. “A perfect Sunday.”

He wanders downstairs. I hear the couch squeak. (It’s an old couch.)

I start typing on my computer. Half an hour later, I hear the couch squeak again, and I hear the screen door slam.

A few hours after that, I go outside looking for Cameron.

He’s outside, replacing a screened in window with shingles.

“What are you doing?!” I yell. “I thought you were going to relax!!” I glare up at Cameron, who’s sitting in the tractor bucket and leaning, hammer in hand, against the side of the house.

He looks sheepish. “I don’t know… There are things that needed to be done.” He says.

I throw up my hands, exasperated, because I want him to take a little time for himself.

But inside my heart, I do realize that the only reason we can do what we’re doing is because of the way he defines things. To him, relaxing means getting things done.

Not that I’m complaining. It’s just that, well, to me “relaxing” means lying on the squeaky couch ALL DAY LONG. And there is just no other way to look at it.