Vacation or Furniture

I need a vacation. I'm way past sane and into demented mentation. Yes, it's a scary place. Here's the deal though: in a fit of absolute optimistic idiocy we decided to take the fam on a Disney Cruise. Yes we did. We're on the hook for a gazillion dollars, so it's happenin' folks. Those Disney people might look smiley, but they're all business when it comes to taking your hard-earned green-backs. That little extravaganza happens in October. I wouldn't quite call it a vacation--for me. It's more a the-kids-are-young-and-will-love-it-and-we'll-be-making-memories and-isn't-that-what-family's-all-about thing. See? Not a vacation. More like hard work you pay for.

Before October and before I experience a psychic break, Something Must Be Done. Like Congress, that usually means rushing headlong into stupidity for the sake of some, make that, any action. Here are my choices:

1. Change my location--go somewhere to get away from it all, except that it all comes with me
   
2. Change my environment--new furniture, paint, a little-pick-me-up
3. Change my attitude--buwahahah! Yeah, right!

Since number three is a definite "NO". Let's discuss numbers one and two. Changing my location means packing for me and three munchkins who have more crap than The Manolo has shoes. It means that I must make reservations. It means that I must find something "economical yet luxurious". It means that I must sit in a vehicle that will take me from here to there with strangers touching me (on a narrow-seated plane--ewwww, I hate it when knees brush up against each other) or my kids saying "I need a new video. Mom he touched me. I GET THE FRONT SEAT!"--that kind of relaxing thing.

Changing my environment means shopping. It means hearing, "Do we really need this? We have a fill-in-the-blank and it looks fine to me." It means bumping up against budgets. It means bumping up against buttheads, I mean beer guts, I mean, the muscle who would wield the pant-brush and I'd have to hear things like,"You want what color? It costs how much?" Which leads to psychological warfare and philosophical discussions about supply-side economics.

Are you tired? I know I am. It's at times like these that I imagine The Donald's conversations with his lovely wife:

The Wife: Don't you think Bermuda is lovely in late July?

The Donald: Why, yes, I do! I'll fire up the private jet.

Or....

The Wife: What do you think of chartreuse?

The Donald: Why, dahling, that color would make your cheekbones look even more prominant.

Oh, forget it. Slogging away in my everyday life should be bliss enough, right? We have our health. And although I'm being cheeky, that is no small thing.

I'm back to dithering. Any advice?