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I'm... all twisted up about vacations.
I end up taking lots of little ones unless I have a big trip planned, but I think the giant chunk o' vacation does me waaaay more good. Unfortunately there are lots of weird hangups I get about taking those versus taking a day here and there -- basically, vacation time is a limited resource, so my perfectionism/decision-making-issue/guilt come into play, and I'm afraid of taking it and wasting it -- that I won't be ready to do a Big Project or somehow won't put a whole glorious week (or two!) to its highest and best use.
It doesn't help that the first-and-last time I took a week off to work on the house there was an Incident with the neighbor-from-hell that blew into almost call-the-cops levels of harassment* and left me with an elevated heart-rate whenever I saw him for almost two years.
Speaking of which, I just saw him outside and pretended not to hear him try to get my attention over his weed-whacker noise. Twice. Now I'm afraid to do the work I'd planned, 'cause it's in the front yard and I know he's outside.
But at least my heart-rate didn't skyrocket. Hooray for small victories.
*If my dad didn't live in town, and wasn't an excellent mediator and a lawyer, I WOULD have called the cops. Instead I called Dad.
I'm... all twisted up about vacations.
I end up taking lots of little ones unless I have a big trip planned, but I think the giant chunk o' vacation does me waaaay more good. Unfortunately there are lots of weird hangups I get about taking those versus taking a day here and there -- basically, vacation time is a limited resource, so my perfectionism/decision-making-issue/guilt come into play, and I'm afraid of taking it and wasting it -- that I won't be ready to do a Big Project or somehow won't put a whole glorious week (or two!) to its highest and best use.
It doesn't help that the first-and-last time I took a week off to work on the house there was an Incident with the neighbor-from-hell that blew into almost call-the-cops levels of harassment* and left me with an elevated heart-rate whenever I saw him for almost two years.
Speaking of which, I just saw him outside and pretended not to hear him try to get my attention over his weed-whacker noise. Twice. Now I'm afraid to do the work I'd planned, 'cause it's in the front yard and I know he's outside.
But at least my heart-rate didn't skyrocket. Hooray for small victories.
*If my dad didn't live in town, and wasn't an excellent mediator and a lawyer, I WOULD have called the cops. Instead I called Dad.
