Post Vacation Sadness Disorder

After getting home last night from a four day trip to Grand Cayman, I opened my suitcase just enough to pull out my toothbrush. This morning, I was hesitant to even go near the suitcase. I call this situation Post Vacation Sadness Disorder, and it's a hard pill to swallow.

There's something about returning from a vacation and seeing bits and pieces of what you did, and

the fun you had, in the still-packed remains of a suitcase. For me this morning, I couldn't take any of the clothes out of my suitcase without feeling the dampness from the Cayman humidity. Yes, I brought some of that salty air home. And my shoes? Beach sand falls out of the toes. The beach sand and the ocean water that I walked through as I got on and off the boat for diving. And my mask and underwater camera? I didn't even bother to rinse them in fresh water before I packed them up, so it feels as though I've brought some of the sea back to land-locked Pennsylvania.

I don't want to unpack my bags, because when I do, it will be admitting that my vacation is over. I will be saying to the universal obstetrics gods, "Yes, begin calling my husband again with medical questions." It will mean allowing John to make (and take) all those church phone calls. It will mean that I will have to take care of the dogs, and clean my house, and deal with real life again.

I just want to stay on vacation for another day, or at least a few more hours. I want to read a book for hours, sitting by the pool, or holed up in my hotel room bed, stretching out my sun-kissed body on the crisp, cool, white sheets. I want to eat my dinner outside, underneath the Caribbean stars, listening to the ocean waves lap against the shore. I want to feel the excitement and anticipation of the next dive. Where will we go and what will we see? I want unadulterated time with my best friend in life.

As soon as I unpack that suitcase, vacation is over. Reality returns. I don't want to swallow that pill.

Comments

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