So I’m prepping for the annual oceanside sojourn, and over the past couple days, I realized I wasn’t happily flipping out over heading to the beach. Not that it won’t be a wonderful time, but I honestly can’t remember the last time when I wasn’t getting ready to go and thinking, “If I don’t get the hell out of town I am going to strangle someone.” At the moment, I am actually chilled out and relaxed and heading for ocean breezes seems almost superfluous.
‘92 to ‘04 it was “I need to get away from work.” 2005 it was a combo of “I need to get away from work and fuck all, my Mom died and you can bet your sweet ass I’m taking two weeks.” 2006 was still recovering from massive job burnout. 2007 I was stressing about my townhouse being on the market. 2008 was when Grandma went off the rails and getting away really wasn’t terribly meaningful, because my phone went with me, and hence, Grandma…
But this year… Grandma is in the care center and doesn’t have a phone in her room, so I don’t have to be “that person” on the beach frantically fielding phone calls. School has been out for almost 3 weeks, so no “must escape my coworkers/clients*” stress. I’m not trying to sell a house in a rapidly crumbling market. Yes, I have a couple things going on that have me mildly mentally preoccupied, but nothing more than that, just mildly preoccupied.
Sure, I am jonesing for fresh seafood & fruity drinks with umbrellas in them (or souvenir glasses) and I’m hoping I can again achieve last year’s feat of not repeating the same beer two days in a row, but this is decidedly odd.
I don’t think I’ve ever taken a vacation when I didn’t desperately need a vacation.
*Yeah, I think of the kids as my clients.