Ha! Be careful of what you
wish blog for about! No sooner did I write of my desire to try my single wings at a solo vacation — but then changed my mind due to traditions and guilt — than I had a tiff and reconciliation with my youngest about the holiday, which led to a complete flip and change of plans.
She read the blog and texted me that she was surprised I had decided to stay home. As usual I wonder if she is fucking with me about not recalling me telling her, or if I am completely losing it, because I imagined telling her. Of course I think she will be happy about my decision, and instead she informs me it will be breakfast, because her work schedule has her working that night. I immediately get a little tense, and the rest goes something like this:
“Go on vacation!” she says. “Why are you trying to get rid of me,” I retort. “There is nothing here to see! This holiday is horrid! You said so yourself” she explains. “You hate your mother, don’t you?” I growl.
Ok, it didn’t go quite like that, but it is the condensed dramatized version. There I was played by the overly dramatic Shirley Maclaine, and she was the put-upon Debra Winger. But much younger versions.
She and I are so much alike that it’s tantamount to arguing with oneself. She pulls the same punches I would (and do), she doesn’t always pull back the troops when she should (likewise) and she feels like crap afterwards. It’s like boxing your shadow, only the shadow can really whallop your ass.
But her point was made, and it also made sense. So I found a slightly more expensive hotel (trust me there are not a thousand options in Laughlin) that I was more familiar with and booked it before I could change my mind.
I think I am going to have to work up the magic once again. What sounded like a glorious expedition filled with intrigue, now sort of feels like I am on the Seniors bus to Stateline. I need to get some wind in my sails. It doesn’t quite have the same panache as it did in my Julia fantasy. But I’ve told myself, I won’t be home alone, I won’t be stressing out over the perfect day & meal, and fuck it; I can have McDonald’s for dinner if I want it. (I won’t. But I do like the freedom of choice. It feels so flipping liberating!)