Reflecting on my Vacation and Other Thoughts

California Sunset 2016.jpg

I feel like I have lived many lives these past two weeks. As I sit in my room reflecting on my vacation in California, I am trying to place words to what I am feeling.

*Warning: this blog entry is mainly an unfocused rambling of a woman trying to understand her head and heart. Good luck.*

It was a strange vacation in the sense that most things did not go as planned. After Christmas I fell ill with the flu and bronchitis, and then on New Year’s Eve I came down with a severe earache, which has persisted, along with the lovely bronchitis that just won’t quit me.

Much of my time was spent with a fever in my mother’s bed. I barely slept as I would cough myself awake and enter into this shallow dream/sleep state where reality and the dreamworld co-mingled leaving me to question what was real.

I also spent a lot of this vacation reading and watching television and movies because I was dying (dramatic much?). For example, I read the last book in the Firebird series by Claudia Gray on the way out to California and then read The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah on the way to Chicago. I also saw La La Land and Moana, along with, ALL THE HALLMARK MOVIES. I am shocked by the amount of Christmas romance plot lines that exist. I mean, really?

Spending time in my hometown also digs up past memories too. Driving past the physical places of my childhood transports me back to that time and I can’t help but feel all those feelings, whether they were good or bad. Being around family who either were trying to understand me now as a 31-year-old or treat me as though I was a 20-something young girl is also strange and left me in this weird state of being surprised at how much I changed and have grown, but also frustrated with how hard it is to tell someone that — some things can only be experienced.

I even had random conversations with two people on Twitter that I never thought I would talk to, which also factored into just the strangeness of my vacation. How did that even happen?

I suppose it’s the mix of this rich drama of books and movies and memories and family, along with the lack of consistent Tawny-life (i.e., work, church, etc.) that has put me out of sorts. It’s like I have all of these feelings and thoughts that are not my own, though some are, and I am wondering, do I hold onto them? Do I let them stay in California? Do I bring them along with me as I live my life in Chicago?

I am not sure.

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