Tuesday, May 19, 2009

There's no place like home?

One of my girlfriends was just in Thailand for three weeks, so a few of us went out for drinks last night to celebrate her safe return. Despite the disconcerting e-mails we received about being lost in the jungle (and stumbling across an Internet cafe) or being somewhat unsure if the ink markings on her back were permanent, she's come back to us unscathed, tattoo-free and without any discernible emotional damage from seeing the hoards of "lady-boys" walking the streets with creepy old men in tow. She can now check off numerous items on her life's to do list; like ride an elephant through the jungle, skip with a flaming rope, or watch her boyfriend pose for the camera in an egregious speedo bathing suit.

Amidst the stories, I couldn't help but sense the post-vacation depression she was feeling, especially when she told us about sobbing in the airport when faced with the reality of returning home. Everybody fears the moment when their vacation comes to an end and they realize, "oh shit, I actually have to pay for this vacation....and rent...and I have a shitty job...and I can't wander around barefoot and drunk anymore." And it's about at that moment that you burst into tears and feel the weight of the world crash down on you. And then the flight attendant comes over and tells you to get a grip because you're freaking out the children. I feel like I'm already entering into that sad phase and I haven't even left for my damn vacation yet! These days off are so dear to me, that I'm mourning them before they've even passed.

This will be the first time off work that Luc and I have had since December, so I'm determined to relish in the longevity of each day and cherish every extra second I get to spend in bed each morning. My stringent determination to enjoy every goddamn moment of blissful time off has given me pre-vacation anxiety. Last night I was vicariously experiencing the "back to reality" feeling you fight through after an enjoyable bout of vacation time. I could see myself at home, doing the laundry that reeked with the residue of great vacation, and that's when the feeling really hit me. However, I was mature enough to leave the table and cry my eyes out in the privacy of the women's restroom. Hopefully though, when the time actually comes, I can restrain my end of vacation hysteria, because if Luc has to endure a 5 hour drive with a wailing banshee, something tells me that this banshee just may have to walk home.

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