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.
I have a love/hate relationship with vacays. I love going home and seeing everyone, but the schedule is exhausting. Even when I make it for a week, it still doesn't seem like enough time. The same goes for trips anywhere. Last trip to Hawaii, I don't think we stopped except to sleep. Trying to cram in biking down a volcano, a show, road to Hana, snorkeling, pineapple plantation tour and so many other things I have pictures of but can't remember doing because I was exhausted after four days. One of these days I'm going to take a real vacation – the kind where you rest by the pool and drink pink drinks with umbrellas in them. I swear I'm going to. Really!
Love love love the new blog look!
Jennie: Yes! Real vacation to me = beach or pool, fruity drinks, fat book, and moving as little as possible. Man. That's what I need right now.