Ending a vacation is a lot like finishing a good book. There’s that feeling of satisfaction over an adventure accomplished. There’s the appreciation for the ride. There’s the disappointment that it’s over, but the excitement for the next one.
And then there’s that moment when you step off the plane/close the book and walk around in a daze as you readjust to reality.
You mean I can’t have taco truck every day of the week? So I have to start using my alarm to get up every morning? What’s this about a triathlon that I’m supposed to be training for? Rain? Work? Are you kidding me?
This is why I’m a strong proponent of a gradual return to society post vacation. Unfortunately that’s not my luxury. (If it’s yours, tell me what you do for a living. I may need to change my life.)
This is how reviews come in handy. I can review what I love and didn’t love about a book. It’s my healing process as I relearn how to cope with reality, I guess.
As for my vacation, I loved every bit of it.
First of all, I got to hang out with this girl.
We barely ever stopped talking about books. And when real life snuck into our conversation, we went to a book store to remedy that.
I also ate more food than I thought was humanly possible. I’m always determined not to make my vacation about food, but have yet to succeed.
This is me and taco truck. The depth of our relationship goes without saying. I love it. I was struck with a sense of panic as I ate my last taco truck meal today, realizing it was our last time together before my next visit. I love the Pacific Northwest, but Nashville does tacos right.
I also got to hang out with my brother.
He patiently waited as I did one of the stupider things of my adult life. Let me explain.
Gaby sent me a text on Monday telling me that the discount bookstore in the area was going out of business. I couldn’t help myself. I went through that store like I’d never see another book again. I was almost rabid. I bought seven books (FOR $21!!!!) that I didn’t have room in my carry-on suitcase for.
This is before I recognized my problem. I was in denial.
I may have set a record for biggest carry-on ever. To give you a point of reference, it fit on the conveyor belt at security by centimeters. The kind ladies at my gate took one look at it and checked it at the gate. They must have been readers too.
Now I’m back to reality, which I’m blessed to say isn’t so bad. Yes, it involves alarm clocks, a more balanced diet, and a “you-better-get-serious-about-this-triathlon” training schedule. But it also involves seven new books to keep some adventure going and to hold me over till I can steal away to Nashville again.