What is it about going out of town that makes me really kick it into high gear? I have to admit, it was a productive day, but if I did this on the regular I'm fairly certain I'd die. Adrenaline is a cruel master.
I am not packed yet, nor is the child, and we are scheduled to hit the road tomorrow morning. But other things are set up and ready to go: the none-clothing items are mostly packed and in the car, the house is mostly clean (and I reserve the right to vacuum it before I go), I made lunch for my in-laws for tomorrow, there's food in the fridge that won't go bad before we get back and a feasible meal plan in place for the beginning of next week. I hate hate hate coming home to a disheveled house with no food ready. There are plenty of things worse than a grocery store on a Sunday night, but it's a depressing way to start the week.
But what is it that made me finally get photos printed so I can send them to my grandmother? Did that really have to happen today? And, after sitting there, bothering no one for weeks, I finally had it in me to put some dried herbs into jars. While I'm sitting here dealing out a hand of misery poker, I'll note that of course there was surprise work to be done, at the request of the boss, and of course that work will pick up with a vengeance once I get back. Ergo, the feasible meal plan and the insistence that I wash and fold the laundry today. That kind of thing pays off down the road, even though it's ten to midnight and I've been saying all week that I will go to bed at 9pm, and all week I haven't seen my bed until at least 10:45.
I'll pack tomorrow morning, get a coffee for the road, and then it'll kind of be like vacation.
Kind of.
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