I go home, to my old home...nobody's there...my family ain't there...my friends ain't there...nobody's there except me. Maybe the cats. Then I spend a year mostly in bed. I just get up to get food and throw cat chow in the dish and clean litterboxen. I don't go anywhere further than the yard, where I look at flowers and grass close up for hours on end. I read. Maybe I work on little bead stringing OT type junk. But mostly I just stay in bed. For a year.
I realize this is merely a fantasy because by day 2 in bed I would be going stir-crazy. I know this from injuries and illnesses that made it impossible for me to get up. Also, spending a weekday workday at home now triggers in me awful memories of illness and/or unemployment, plus the neighbors make too much noise, parents screaming at kids, kids screaming at each other.
Thinking about this just confirms to me how impossible it is to ever get any real rest at all.