Vacations in Toronto, my hometown, are not really vacations. They’re more like a bunch of social visits on steroids, strung together like beads on a very short necklace. It never feels like there’s enough to time to see everybody. Those I do see feel like our time together was too short. Those I didn’t get to see feel neglected. Then there are the goodbyes, which always suck.
It always takes me a few days to get back into the groove of life in Seattle after a trip back to T.O. I go from having a meticulously scheduled social calendar in Canada to a totally unscheduled life here in the USA. I go from having no time to write to having all kinds of time to write – and strangely, both are anxiety-inducing.
The good news is that I got to spend time with immediate family and best friends. It recharges my batteries to spend time with the people who are share my DNA, both physically and metaphorically.
The bad news is that I can’t remember what the hell I was working on before I left.