I will be back to writing about my trip shortly, but may I digress for a moment?
This week, the week after a blissful vacation, is the worst week EVER...You know the kind. The kind of week where you greet every morning with a string of obscenities, maybe even some tears, because you're HERE, in bed, having to get up and get ready to go to work, when just a few days ago you were THERE, waking up whenever you damn well felt like it, drinking coffee, reading books, drinking rum, laughing, and doing whatever you felt like for the day. And when you were THERE, your boyfriend was right THERE with you, and it was all cute and sweet and romantic and fucking TROPICAL, and now you're HERE, but your boyfriend is still THERE. And you just had him all to yourself for ten whole days, and now you're, like, starving because he's still THERE. And it's the sudden separation that kills you because you miss him even more now than you would've, seeing as you just ate, slept, breathed and lived every second of your day with him for ten days. And besides that, you have to go to work, where there's a stack of shit waiting for you, just where it's been since you left, accumulating and growing and mutating to mythic proportions, and you can't very well BLOG, or even read other blogs because of all of this WORK that needs to get done. And when your day is finally over, you have to PACK so you can MOVE, because your roommate sold your condo AGAIN, after only roughly seven months of owning it. And yes, you get to move into your boyfriend's house, but need we reiterate that your boyfriend is still away - still THERE - which means you have to do all the moving IN by yourself. It's not the heavy lifting of moving alone that bothers you (you've done that several times before), it's the idea of putting YOUR stuff into HIS house without his INPUT. So you're weeding through your stuff, trying to pare it down, which isn't so bad, because, hey, at least you're getting rid of a lot of stuff, but you KNOW you're going to have to rearrange some things in the boyfriend's house to make all of your stuff fit in nicely, and you feel bad about that. Because how would YOU feel if you were away on vacation and you came home and your significant other had gone and uprooted all of YOUR shit, and brought in new furniture and basically TOOK OVER YOUR LIFE while you were sitting in the sun? Probably not very good. So you feel bad, but you know it has to be done, and you want to get it done NOW so that it's not looming over your head, because you always put everything off until the last minute. So you rush from work to your boyfriend's house and change, and then rush to your soon-to-be-ex condo and start packing up your life, sorting out what you do and don't need, what you want to donate to the Salvation Army and what is just better in the trash. And you have this creepy attachment to everything you own, so you hem-and-haw over everything you throw out, sometimes second-guessing yourself mid-toss, which is sort of a self-defeating act since you're trying to GET RID of stuff, not make more of a load to cart over to your boyfriend's house. And you have to sleep in your boyfriend's house WITHOUT HIM, because your room in YOUR house looks like a nuclear bomb hit it, leaving a million half-burnt Yankee Candles, old lipstick tubes and black high heels in its wake. And you can't sleep in that. So you spend an inordinate amount of time driving. And you really want to use this week to catch up with your friends, but you REALLY need to move out, because if you wait too long, your roommate is going to just toss all of your shit into the garbage because you're never there anyway. And you're stressing yourself out over all of this moving in business, and you get an email from your boyfriend that says "Move in whatever you want, bring in whatever furniture you want, don't forget about the extra closet space in the spare bedroom you can use for your clothes and shoes, you can use that, too...And all I ask is that you leave a path from the door to the bed for me." And that makes you so happy that you want to cry again, and that makes you miss him that much more because he really is THAT awesome. And you think "God, I can't wait to pick him up on Saturday," and you start counting down until he's home. And then you start thinking about how nice he always is, and how exceptional he was on your trip, putting Benadryl on the sun poisoning on your back, telling you you were the most beautiful, sexiest woman alive, sun poisoning and all...And then you remember how he changed his plans when your flight home got delayed, even when you told him he could just go, and he said he wanted to make sure you go out of the country alright, and that made you cry because no one has ever been that nice to you, ever. And then you think about him still THERE, Scuba diving, and that just reminds you that you're back HERE now, and not THERE anymore, thereby starting the whole thing over again.
Yeah. That's the kind of week I'm having.
We'll return to our scheduled rehashing of my trip to Belize shortly...