Last night, I tossed and turned for hours, waiting for sleep to still my racing thoughts. I finally had to get up, find my iPod, and tune into some soothing music in order to lull myself to sleep.
I've been planning for this vacation for months, now. I need this vacation. So, why, the day before we leave, am I plagued with anxious thoughts? Why do I worry about the hardware store while I am gone? Why do I stress over Day Job and my clients, who, I know, I have left in good hands? Why am I verklempt at the thought of leaving my cat for ten days? He's also in good hands, and, I mean, he's a cat; they fend for themselves pretty well. Why do I envision plane delays, lost luggage, lost time, or...worse?
What the hell, Chelle?
I...guess I need a vacation even worse than I thought?
I think I recall feeling some anxiety prior to my Paris trip a few years ago, and, that turned out just fine. Better than fine; it was a trip of a lifetime.
Actually, I think I've had pre-vacation anxiety before almost every vacation we have taken since Hugh and I were married.
Orlando? Yep. Twice.
The Florida Keys? You got it.
I think I'm just wired to stress. Maybe that's an indication that I need more vacations? You know, immersion therapy to help eliminate the phobia? Isn't that how that works?
Huh. I wouldn't mind testing that theory. Guess I'll have plenty of time on my hands, what with being an empty nester and all.
Time will tell.