Travel. Packing my suitcase is one of the least pleasant things I ever do. And walking out of my home is the other.
I hate to pack. I am not one of these people who can pack 4 1/2 outfits for six days - I don't know what my mood will be, what my waist will need in terms of accommodation, what my sense of style will demand. I always fail to pack what I will want to wear. I think my clothes don't suit other places. Maybe it is that I don't suit other places. At home I feel confident and well dressed and relaxed, but I don't automatically feel that in other places... even if I am dressed the same.
And then there is the issue of summer wear. What does a person wear in heat? I still don't have that one right. Mostly I think I will just dress and forget myself as I have learned to do.
But I still hate packing. I grumble and fuss and throw things in the suitcase and hate every bit of it.
And then I walk out of the house. I always wonder if I will come back ... I love being in my home. With my Steve. I love the old couch where I sit with coffee balanced on the arm. I love the cat hair. I love the garden that needs so much fall work. I have not been home long enough and alone enough to even wear junky clothes for the last month or two. Always just pausing til the next thing or person.
I am going to think on these things over the next two weeks. And I am going to swim. Every day. That is the plan.