It is no wonder that we so seldom take vacations. If we took more of them I would likely have an ulcer roughly the size of Tennessee.
Preparing/Packing for a long vacation seems to make me terribly anxious. Because in my crazy little head I seem to have the idea that if anything is forgotten once we are AWAY FROM HOME it is lost to me forever. No place else has grocery/drug/department stores where I can purchase any item that is left behind.
See....I can go to the crazy place oh so very very easily.
What is really dumb is that truly the only thing we could possibly leave behind that we can not find a replacement for if we needed it is my glasses. And really the worst that would happen if I left my glasses at home....well it might mean that I leave my contacts in longer if I want to read before bed. OOOHHHhhh the horror!
Still I get all kinds of crazy uptight as we prepare to leave our home for 10 days. Leaving work is a bit anxiety provoking too....I want to make sure that I leave as clean a slate as possible because just like I hate coming home to a dirty house after vacation the LAST thing I want is to come back to work and face a pile of unfinished tasks. Catching up on all that has gone on with my clients during my absence is enough thankyouverymuch.
Oh to add salt to the gaping wound of anxiety I carry around these last two days before we leave....today the dishwasher started making a terrible sound when we turned it on. SPECTACULAR! Because there is nothing more I want to do than spend a few hundred bucks on dishwasher repair right as I am about to leave on a VERRRRYYY long car ride with gas prices hovering around 4.00 a gallon.
Also I do not want to wash/dry/put away two loads of dishes. That is why they are neatly stacked on the counter until all is fixed (Oh lord please please let it be fixed. I will make all kinds of ridiculous promises to see that this dishwasher is fixed before we leave) tomorrow.
Have I mentioned that I REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY REALLY hate washing dishes?
Please prepare for a slight digression here......
As soon as I was tall enough to reach the sink while standing on a stool (not as young as you might think because I was a skinny shrimpy thing as a child) it was my chore to wash dishes every evening. We had no dishwasher (other than me) and there were five of us in the family, so there were a pretty fair number of dishes to be washed every evening. Every evening without fail I would make many attempts to get out of the dreaded chore. EVERY EVENING I put my parents through this. I am nothing if not persistant.
At one point not too long in to my dish washing career I developed an allergy to the dish soap. Oh I wish we had owned a video camera so that I could post right here for you the dance of joy I did upon discovery of this allergy. It was inspired I tell you. The finest Prima Ballerina could not have equalled the glory of this dance of pure unadulterated joy.
However my joy bubble was burst by my ever resourceful mother who promptly went out and bought me my very own pair of yellow Playtex rubber gloves to wear while doing dishes. No amount of complaining about the gloves being too big could make her see my way. (Even as an adult the small size rubber gloves are a tad too large. I have teeny tiny baby sized hands.)
I did not come to know the bliss that is having a dishwasher until well into adulthood. Once I had a hit of the DW I was gone, and have vowed in my dress made of living room drapes, "AS GOD IS MY WITNESS I SHALL NEVER BE WITHOUT A DISHWASHER AGAIN!!!!!"
And that my friends is why those dishes sit on my counter until repairs are made.