The spouse and I are going out of town tomorrow until Monday. To Santa Fe, my favorite place in the world so far. About halfway there I will be so excited about where we’re going to eat I won’t be able to stand it. Then I’ll also want to stop in Albuquerque on the way so I can hit Buffalo Exchange and see if there are any thrifting scores waiting there for me. Once I walked in, spotted a pair of Italian-made, distressed leather ankle boots that are so pointy they are practically poulaine. But Western. They were in my size, and I galloped towards them and snatched them up like two lovers rushing toward one another on the beach. My spidey sense is certain there are good things waiting for me.
This is the second year that I have had the audacity to announce that I will be taking leave and cancelling my classes entirely because that’s what I feel like doing. There’s a lot of “we don’t ever take time off” and “we never take lunch breaks” and “have NEVER cancelled a class” attitude in my workplace and I realized last year that I don’t really care about winning the martyrdom contest. There is no reason I can’t go to Santa Fe and take two days off to do it. That’s why they give us leave. So, I am. And this time, even though the timing means I am missing two major departmental events, it wasn’t even that hard to do it. I can get used to this taking care of myself business.
Which is not to say that my anticipatory anxiety hasn’t spoken up (or nattered unceasingly) while planning the get away. I have worried that I will get my period this weekend (which I undoubtedly will) even though if my husband were to be the sort who would say that would “ruin” the weekend, he wouldn’t be my husband. But I guess, all things being equal, I’d really prefer not to have my period in a hotel room with a fireplace. I’ve worried that since snow is predicted, we won’t get to do anything except sob quietly into our hankies about my period. I’ve worried that the house sitter won’t be up to the task of my house, my dogs and, oh, my child. I’ve worried about money, about the child and child-minder picking the house up adequately for the maid, about the child eating enough, about falling down on a snowy sidewalk in Santa Fe, about whether or not it was a good idea not to take my car since I don’t drive the truck (and wouldn’t want to drive anything in the snow, anyway), about spending too much money, about my MIL dying before we get there or while we are there, etc, etc, etc.
Because let’s face it, worrying is what I do. But, each worry is punctuated by squealing because we really need a getaway and even if it does snow, that just means I get to wear a fabulous coat that gets worn about once every two years here. I will look good, and that comforts me.