Back To Reality

Home again. Back to reality. Back to washing mountains, mystery smells in suitcases, and wondering why we thought buying extra clothes meant we’d somehow avoid laundry. We wouldn’t. We never do.

The house looked offended we’d left. Dust everywhere. Benches needing wiping. Plants hanging on by a thread. And me? Absolutely buggered. Holiday adrenaline has officially worn off and I’m operating somewhere between “functioning adult” and “woman found asleep holding a sandwich.”

Still… it’s my birthday today.

So despite the chaos, the Squeeze is taking me out for dinner tonight which honestly feels less like a celebration and more like a rescue mission. If I make it through the entrée without my head slowly lowering toward the soup bowl, I’ll consider it a success.

Travel is funny like that. You spend weeks wandering around eating, drinking, laughing, buying things you definitely didn’t need… then you come home and immediately get attacked by three suitcases, seventeen loads of washing, and the crushing reality that nobody else cleaned the house while you were away. Rude, honestly.

But it’s good to be home too. Exhausted, slightly sunburnt, poorer than when we left, but home.

Sheez, I need to find enough energy to put real pants on for dinner. Pray for the Squeeze if I start snoring into the bread rolls.