There’s a stretch of time before a vacation where you stop being a fully reliable person.
I’m in that stretch now.
I still sit down like I’m about to do something useful. I open emails. I read them. I even start replies sometimes. But there’s a delay happening somewhere between my brain and the rest of me. Things aren’t connecting. I’ll read the same message a few times and then just… leave it. Not on purpose. It just sort of happens. Like my brain quietly clocks out and doesn’t tell anyone.
I leave for two weeks soon.
Two weeks sounds like a long time when you say it out loud, but the second you try to get ready for it, it turns into this weird countdown where every small thing suddenly matters more than it should. You start looking at your normal life like it’s about to expire.
So, I did what any sane person would do… I made a list.
The list started out fine. Normal, even. Pack clothes. Make sure nothing important gets forgotten. Deal with the usual “don’t leave your life in a state that will annoy you later” kind of stuff. But somewhere along the way, it drifted into things that aren’t really tasks. At one point, I wrote, “Be ready for vacation,” which feels less like something you do and more like something you’re supposed to already be.
I am not.
Packing is mostly guessing who you’re going to be somewhere else. You stand there holding a shirt, trying to decide if Vacation You would wear it. Vacation You seems like a better version of you. Slightly more organized. Slightly more relaxed. Probably owns fewer questionable t-shirts. Definitely remembers things like chargers.
Regular Me is just hoping for the best.
I’ve already accepted that I’m going to forget something. It’s just a matter of what. Socks feel like the obvious choice. Wait… am I bringing too many socks? Not enough socks? Why are socks the thing I’m most worried about? I’m going to be on a cruise in the middle of the Caribbean. Why do I need socks?! Anyway, I’ll focus too much on socks, and then I’ll forget something actually important, like a toothbrush, and spend the first day pretending that was always the plan.
Meanwhile, everything at home starts to feel temporary. Like I’m already halfway out the door. The coffee in the morning tastes like it’s part of a countdown. The couch feels like it knows I’m about to disappear for a while. Even small things feel oddly final, like I should appreciate them more, but instead I just notice them and think, “huh,” and move on.
The weather’s been decent-ish too (comparatively to the rest of this garbage of a winter), which feels suspicious. Like it’s trying to make a case for me to stay. It’s too late for that. I’ve already mentally left at least three times this week.
The funny part is, I don’t even have big plans.
There’s no packed schedule. No list of things I absolutely need to do. I’m not trying to maximize anything. I just want to be somewhere else for a bit and not think so much. Walk around without needing a reason. Spend time with my family. Sit longer than I normally would. Forget what day it is and not feel like I should fix that.
And that’s really the whole goal.
Not to come back with stories or accomplishments or anything impressive. Just to come back feeling like my brain had a break and remembered how to be quiet for a while.
Anyway, if you need me, I’ll be here for a few more days pretending to be productive while mostly thinking about whether I’ve packed enough socks.
I haven’t.
I never do.
The CJBuzz 